


The Darkest Clouds of My Soul Are on the Horizon

by DevinBourdain



Series: Ripples of a Reflection [2]
Category: Star Trek, Star Trek: Alternate Original Series (Movies)
Genre: Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Emotional Manipulation, Emotional Whump, Emotional/Psychological Abuse, Forced Mind Meld, Hurt/Comfort, Implied/Referenced Character Death, Injury, McCoy Whump, Mind Control, Mind Control Aftermath & Recovery, Mirror Universe, Past Torture, Post-Star Trek Beyond, Recovery, Violence, Vulcan Mind Melds
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-10-31
Updated: 2018-11-13
Packaged: 2019-01-27 13:40:50
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 7
Words: 28,517
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12583124
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DevinBourdain/pseuds/DevinBourdain
Summary: McCoy looks himself in the mirror everyday and tells himself he’s fine, he survived.  Not all scars are visible ones and there are far reaching consequences from the mirror ‘verse that extend beyond not just the Doctor, but the whole crew.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer: The Star Trek characters are not mine, just borrowed for this story.  
> Warnings: language and violence.  
> Comments are always welcome and appreciated

Jim's just come from hell, met the devil himself, and found out they share the same face.

He'll examine the damage to his soul later, when everyone has had a moment to catch their breath and reassure themselves that the person staring back at them in the mirror is nothing more than a reflection. As disturbing as Jim's encounter was, it pales in comparison to McCoy's, who had to exist in that perversion for almost two weeks. The tarnished and worn silver lining is they brought McCoy home and not just a body, but it was a very near thing.

Jim's not known for his patience. He built his youth on impulsiveness and pleasures of the flesh, often racing into places where angels fear to tread. He's not known for patience, but he can be patient, if he absolutely has to. For the last seventy-two hours, he's sat by McCoy's biobed in Yorktown medical, shirking his captain-y duties, adding new kinks to his back and sometimes pacing the room like a caged circus lion. He's absolutely prepared to bite the ring master's head off if he doesn't get some answers soon or even better, and by far his preferred choice, have McCoy open his eyes and give Jim shit about something. Anything. It really doesn't matter as long as that southern, grumpy charm manages to beat the devil too. He's pretty sure there's a gold fiddle or something, involved in it for McCoy for doing so.

If Jim had his head in the game properly, he's pretty sure he would have laid into Spock earlier about running interference between his emotionally distraught captain and the gory medical details as they come in. Right now he's a little grateful; it's hard enough to look at the aftermath without knowing the fine details of everything those sick sons of bitches did to McCoy in that universe. His imagination does have plenty of time to fill in the blanks.

There's no security showing up to drag Kirk away to the brig or a court martial or even questioning by the admiralty, so whatever Spock is telling them, must be holding the wolves at bay. Even if they do come for him, Jim'll fight them tooth and nail to stay where he is. He'd taken his eyes off Leonard and look where that got the doctor. He won't make that mistake again so soon. At least not until McCoy opens his eyes and Jim can assure him the nightmare is over and Leonard's cantankerousness is free to run amuck on the Enterprise once again. Or it will be, once Jim gets her back on her feet again too. This is why he can't have nice things; he hasn't been very mindful of their frailty lately.

At hour eighty-one, McCoy blinks once, than twice. Jim sits up straighter in anticipation and his heart waits to break out in song at the first 'damn it Jim' to cut through the oppressive and stale silence. Jim'll bet some serious credits that those are the words that slip past McCoy's lips when his alarm goes off in the morning and Leonard's still straddling the barrier between awake and sleep.

Hope dies a horrible withering death as Jim watches McCoy's slack face go from trauma and drug induced slumber to relief briefly before taking a hard right and go careening straight to fear; ungodly and unbridled fear. McCoy makes a few feeble attempts to push Jim's hand away before he starts screaming. It's slurred and mostly intelligible ramblings absconded by the drugs lying heavy in his system but what Jim can make out, makes his gut tighten.

He tries to hold McCoy down, to stop him from scrambling out of bed and hurting himself further but his attempts to hold and calm his friend only seem to exacerbate the situation.

"Easy, Bones. It's alright," shouts Jim to be heard. It's a fine balance between trying to smash through McCoy's fear and being calm and gentle so as not to send the doctor scurrying in terror.

"Screw you. Ya ain't him,' says Lenard like his mouth is full of marbles and putting more effort into his useless uncoordinated struggles. Desperation and fear are rolling off of him. He has to get away, no matter what it takes. Any injuries it takes to do it can be fixed later as long as he can get away from this nightmare.

"Bones! You're home. We brought you ho... Ow!" cries Jim as McCoy sinks his teeth into the flesh of Jim's hand. He pulls his arm back to see the bite mark well up with blood just as the doctors and nurses rush in to sedate the patient. It's a storm of flailing limbs and highly trained medical professionals like one of those cartoon dust clouds that threatens to sweep up everyone in its path. Jim presses down on his hand to try and stop the bleeding. "Shit."

Having someone that looks like your best friend cut into you is bad enough, he can do without the pretense of Kirk pretending to be Jim. "Knew it... you... you bast...ards," slurs McCoy as he has little option but to surrender to the drugs.

"I promise, I got you home, Bones," pleads Jim, standing there helplessly as McCoy's eyes flutter shut. He's never seen the doctor reduced to something so animalistic and it just serves to amplify and define his failure. A tiny voice whispers that Leonard is shattered and there might be too many pieces for Jim to put back together.

"Let me look at your hand, Captain," says Nurse Chapel, gently but firmly pulling Jim off to the side. Jim, not having the energy to fight, is quick to acquiesce to her efforts. It's like pulling along a ghost, the ease is almost scary considering how hard the doctor has to fight to get Jim to submit to medical care in the middle of a crisis. She mops up enough of the blood to get an actual look at the wound. "It's not that bad."

Jim would like to argue that it is. This wound runs much deeper than the layers of flesh and muscle that McCoy managed to pierce, but then again, neither of them wants to talk about their friend and colleague being reduced to the actions of a rabid dog. There's a joke in there somewhere about contracting colorful southern metaphors or chronic irritability but Jim can't bring himself to make it, just like he can't bear to take his eyes off the scene unfolding a couple of biobeds over.

"It's the medication; he's not lucid yet," offers Christine, to explain away her boss's behaviour but her underlying worry is undercutting her half hearted reassurances.

The ward has been filled with half felt positivity since most of the staff has been swapped out with the Enterprises' medical personnel, all eager to rally around one of their own. Jim's proud of them, but as the days go on and facts and theories spread about what has befallen their CMO, moral is getting low. He doesn't know what to say to raise their spirits when they can all look at a chart and decipher its code to know that Jim really knows nothing about what the future holds for a boss they all revere. It's a people problem he has, and ironically it's Leonard he'd go to for council on how to handle it.

"Good as new," says Chapel, running the dermal regenerator over his hand one last time.

"Thanks," says Jim, flexing his hand. If only fixing the doctor was this easy. He reaches out and places a reassuring hand on her shoulder before she can turn away. "He's gonna get through this," because Jim won't give Leonard the option not to.

Christine smiles and nods before walking away, but it doesn't reach her eyes and pity is far too quick to reclaim her features like Jim's a child being fed false optimism because no one has the stomach to sit him down and explain death is coming.

The need to punch something simmers in him, threatening to boil over at any moment and burn anyone in arms length. He has a long history of learning he can't really solve anything with his fists but by god, it sure feels good to try. A good fight would probably take the edge off, inflicting pain that he actually knows how to deal with. Anything other than this limbo they've all resigned themselves to. He's given Leonard far few too many commendations; it's been four days and already Jim can't handle it; a quarter of Leonard's job is waiting to determine the winner of a fight he can't wage on his patient's behalf.

A yeoman brings Jim three meals a day in which Jim manages to choke down two. He should get Scotty to do a systems check on the Yorktown food replicators because it mostly tastes like ash and failure. It means staging a hunger strike to rouse his sleeping friend isn't out of the question; Jim loves playing dirty like that. He hasn't taken shaving Leonard's eyebrows off the list yet either, just to teach Leonard what happens when he leaves Jim without adult supervision for extended periods of time. If Leonard won't wake up for himself he can at least do it for Jim, who isn't afraid to be that selfish about it right now. It's probably a good thing all the reports Jim doesn't have are on PADDs and not paper because he'd be making Henry Ford proud with a one man paper airplane assembly line right now. Idle hands are the devil's playthings.

Just the thought of the devil saps all the wind from his sails and he goes back to playing how still can you sit before the universe swallows you whole. When he falls asleep hunched over Leonard's bed, what he finds isn't better but his own personal hell with McCoy as judge and executioner but he can handle the bad dreams because it's the least of what he deserves right now.

* * *

M'Benga's up the amount of sedative McCoy receives so they can avoid another scene like earlier, at least until McCoy's a bit stronger. He's assured Jim that Leonard is healing physically and the damage from the rock shard is looking good but he's incredibly mum about the injuries sustained before Jim found McCoy. Jim toys briefly with the thought of pulling rank and medical proxy over Leonard to pull out every sordid detail the doctor knows but his traitorous lips refuse to form the question. He's never been afraid of anything before but is loath to admit he might be afraid of the answers here.

Jim doesn't take his eyes of the man in the bed, even when instinct tells him he's no longer alone in the room. "You're not who I was expecting." He figured it would be Spock to risk his ire with a well planned and logical argument to persuade Jim to go to his quarters and get something resembling real sleep. He's not sure if sending Uhura is more calculated or not on Spock's part but the fact that it's Uhura doesn't surprise him. She and McCoy formed a friendship back at the academy despite being on different tracks and running in different social circles. He supposes their friendship was built on some sort of anti-Kirk alliance by the two to slowly cause him mental torture at the academy.

"I convinced Spock a more emotional touch might be needed. He decided to defer to my judgement on the matter, but I imagine he'll be storming the castle should I fail," says Uhura from her spot by the door.

"I'm not leaving, so save your breath."

"You are," insists Uhura stepping closer to her captain.

"I'm not!"

"Yes, you are _Captain_ ," she snaps leaving no room for disagreement. "You're exhausted and no good to Leonard if you put yourself n the biobed next to him. That won't help him or change what happened. You have a whole crew that needs you and you can't help any of us if you don't take care of yourself." It's a low blow, but desperate times call for extreme measures.

Jim glares hard at Uhura.

"Now here are your options; get up and have lunch with me, checking in with Scotty and then take a nap in a real bed while Spock sits with Leonard or I have a doctor with a hypo waiting to knock you out and a Vulcan itching to nerve pinch you into oblivion, either one if it means you get a solid ten hours."

If it was anyone else, Jim would put up a fight but Uhura is crafty at the best of times and he's too tired to try and outplay each one of her moves. Spock steps into the room and Jim knows he doesn't have enough wiggle room to get out of this. The best he can hope for is to satisfy them so they'll leave him alone again. He lets out a long sigh. "Okay. But if McCoy so much as twitches, you comm. me right away. I mean it."

Uhura wraps her arms around Jim and guides him out of McCoy's hospital room as Spock takes a seat and resumes vigil over the doctor. "A twitch Spock, no matter how small," calls out Jim from the hallway.


	2. Chapter 2

Jim's supposed to be sleeping. He won't admit it but he's physically exhausted and mentally drained but now that he finds himself horizontal on an actual bed, sleep has become as elusive as something going right in his life lately. Every moment is punctuated by the beating of his heart that seems earth shattering loud in the vast nothingness filling his quarters.

There's a strange nothingness that has settled over him. He should be grateful that McCoy's still with them and enjoy the present but it's so tainted with heartache he just needs time to hurry up and pass. But what are they running to? The future is painted black but not in a positive it can be shaped into anything sort of way but a bleak are they ever going to escape the shadows way. Life has become limbo, a long stretch of uncertainty that's teetering on the edge of falling into something warm and familiar or the cold rapids of never be the same again.

Jim's hand curls into a fist and he slams it against the mattress. He shouldn't be moping; it's McCoy that's suffering not him. Not to mention he has a reputation of beating the odds to cling to. He's James T Kirk, god damn it; he took on death and won.

It hits him just how hollow some of his victories really are. He didn't take on death; that was Leonard. Jim's the idiot that sacrifices himself and forces McCoy to save his ass because Leonard is the force to be reckoned with. Death had a near McCoy experience and hasn't been brave enough to come for Jim since.

Their return keeps playing out in his mind on a steady loop; every painful moment in painful slowness for scrutiny and tormented reflection. The anguish of every minute is explored as he slows time to see every mistake made along the way and their inevitable conclusion.

* * *

The medical team disappears behind the doors to the surgical suit and Jim's left standing in the main part of med bay like a lost duckling. What's needed now is beyond his skill and the one person he'd trust with the job is the one lying on the gurney.

"He's going to be okay. He's in good hands," assures Jim, not that Spock needs the reassurance but someone needs to say it to put Jim at ease and the usual candidate is indisposed at the moment. Spock may mean well but hearing some statistic about his best friend's survival when even Jim can calculate that it's less than one hundred percent certain, isn't what Jim needs right now.

"Indeed," agrees Spock, at a loss on how to traverse these highly volatile human emotional waters.

Silence follows as Jim fights every instinct he has to cross that invisible barrier and hold vigil at McCoy's side. There are things he has to do, that his rank demands he addresses but his feet have grown roots, holding him in place as though he's a mighty oak sprung up in Yorktown medical. It won't be long before command at Yorktown demands answers. His grace period is dependent on how long it takes them to figure out the questions beyond how do six Starfleet officers appear on a transport pad, one severely injured with no actual record of transport orders to leave the station in the first place. He'll gladly answer for all of it, as long as he can preference his argument with McCoy's alive.

"Captain, perhaps someone should contact the doctor's family and inform them of the situation," suggests Spock, breaking the tense silence.

It's an easy out the Vulcan's providing Jim, a chance to spare himself the responsibility of looking those that matter the most to Leonard in the eyes and telling them he failed to bring McCoy home safe. It's a leniency he doesn't deserve. If someone has to tell Jo her father isn't coming home, it should come from Jim. He owes Leonard nothing less. "I'll do it," replies Kirk, hollow and without emotion.

"I would be more than willing..." starts Spock.

"I said, I'll take care of it!" snaps Kirk, drawing the attention of everyone in medbay. Spock doesn't flinch under Jim's misplaced aggression but somehow that make Jim feel worse for shouting at his first officer. "Sorry, Spock. I know it's not your fault. I just..." _Need a living, breathing punching bag? Want to hurt someone to make my pain less? Need someone else to share the blame?_ Jim can't find an explanation that Spock could make sense of or that doesn't expose him as a shitty human being.

One by one the senior staff makes their way to medbay to settle in for what will probably be a long night. Uhura is first, sitting next to Spock, their hands interwoven. Jim's normally happy his two officers have found something profound to share with each other in the vastness of what they do, but right now, he's a little jealous of their intimate support system. He would love to share this burden with someone but the only people who he can commiserate with, who feel the ache of this scenario as keenly as he does, he has no right to add to their burden. It's the price of Captain and friend he must now endure.

Chekov is next to wander in. He's anxious and subtly trying to get answers out of Uhura as unobtrusively as possible while Jim works very hard to wear a trench into the floor. Unlike the rest of them, Chekov remained behind as a life line for the away team. While the rest of them have some context as to what happened, the youngest bridge officer only saw the bloody aftermath when a broken and dying McCoy appeared on the transport pad with a frantic away team.

The next to come through the doors is Sulu with an arm full of food containers. Jim can't force himself to eat anything but he's grateful for the sentiment. Again his people, who he can't possibly give enough praise to, are filling in the holes left by his short comings. He should be taking care of his people not letting them take care of him.

Scotty follows closely on Sulu's heels with of all things, a case of beer and bottle of scotch. Jim's not entirely sure he wants to know how Scotty came by it, let alone brought it into medbay but it is something he can force himself to choke down.

They must make one hell of a sight, the senior staff of one of Starfleet's most infamous ships huddled together in corner of a waiting room in medbay, drinking and sharing antidotes about their CMO while waiting to find out the doctors fate. As improper as the whole scene is, it's oddly appropriate for this crew and the person they're waiting and praying for.

Jim's patience are worn thin when M'Benga finally appears from behind the surgical doors. The air is sucked out of the room as everyone waits to hear their friend's fate. M'Benga's face gives no clues as to whether Jim will have to inform Joanna McCoy that she'll will ever see her father again. Words of condolence are already running through his head as he numbly steps forward to close the distance between him and the doctor. All of his words seem inadequate to the task he shouldn't have to perform and how to you give a eulogy when you know the universe will never recover from the loss?

M'Benga looks pale and worn and Jim aches for the battle the man must have faced in there. "He made it through surgery," says M'Benga and it's like a weight has been lifted off of all of them. "We repaired the damage from the wound and don't predict any long term effects but it will be a lengthy recovery. I'll have a more detailed report for you, Captain, but there's been significant trauma, most of which has been repaired so it's no longer life threatening but will require further treatment when McCoy is stronger."

Most of what the doctor says is muted under the relief that Leonard is alive. He's alive. Everything else is inconsequential in comparison. "Evidence of torture... injures in various stages of healing... someone with basic medical training... healed to keep him alive but not properly... the most significant concern now is the damage to his hand..."

Wait his hand? Jim's mind snaps to attention. "Damage to his hand?" asks Jim, dumbly, because he had to have heard that wrong. Leonard's a surgeon, his hands are essential to what he does. If he can't be a surgeon after this, how's Leonard going to deal with that? Jim gets dizzy as his vision of the future, the one where McCoy shakes off this misadventure, the Enterprise gets underway again and they all go about life as it was before Altamid, starts to go fuzzy around the edges. Suddenly he's imagining scenarios where McCoy might not be the CMO on Enterprise, where he might not even be on the Enterprise at all. What if Leonard decides to return to Earth and retire? Sure at first they'll make the effort to stay in contact, but Starfleet business will slowly monopolise all Jim's time and eventually it will be just too much effort to minimize the distance between them and eventually they'll just send holiday vids to one another and then nothing at all. It's a selfish line of thought to dwell on how McCoy's potential complications are going to impact Jim's life but he needs his best friend. Jim needs McCoy standing on one side of his and Spock on the other just like he needs air to breath and space to explore.

Everything comes crashing back into bright clarity as he sees the rest of the medical team being led by Nurse Chapel, moving McCoy from surgery to his own recovery room. McCoy's overcome the biggest hurtle, he's alive, and Jim's going to make sure he gets over the rest of them too. "Can I see him?" asks Jim, interrupting whatever M'Benga was talking about.

The doctor looks surprised but looks over his shoulder to see what has captivated his captain's attention. "We're going to keep him sedated for awhile, but you can sit with him if you like."

M'Benga's barely finished his sentence before Jim's pushing past him to follow the medical team down the hall. There's lots of time to hear the details of just what the medical team had to combat to get Leonard to this point later, right now, Jim needs to see with his own eyes that Leonard is still with them.

"Please continue, Doctor," says Spock as he watches Kirk walk away.

"We're concerned about the nerve damage to his hand. It almost looks like someone tried to cut his finger off."

Uhura gasps, turning herself to bury her face in Spock's shoulder. Scotty makes short work of what's left in bottle of scotch while Sulu looks away and Chekov goes an alarming shade of green. Spock for his part has to concentrate on keeping the messy emotions trying very hard to rear their ugly head buried beneath his cool and collected exterior. He's having a hard time imagining a scenario in which Doctor McCoy would warrant such brutal treatment.

"The rest of the damage occurred from the breaking of the bones in his hand, repeatedly. Someone would break them, heal the bones to the minimal standard that could be considered healed and then break them again. No attention was paid to the nerves and tissue in his hand. With therapy he'll most likely regain full use of his hand for everyday tasks, but it's difficult to predict if he'll recover the finite sensitivity and control required by a surgeon that he had before."

The news hangs heavy over all of them, making their small victory of bringing Leonard home seem hollow.

M'Benga holds up a sample container with a black device encased in it. "We removed this from Leonard. It was embedded in his chest."

"For what purpose?" asks Spock, scrutinizing the object.

The doctor shrugs his shoulders looking solemn. "We haven't had time to analyze it yet. I was hoping maybe you could tell us what exactly it was designed for."

"I can have a look at that, says Scotty, jumping up and snatching the container. He's halfway out the door before anyone can object.

"I vill help you," says Chekov, eagerly trailing after the Scotsman. It's something to do, a way to help that isn't just sitting and waiting for news.

M'Benga reaches into his pocket and pulls out a data chip. "There's also this. One of the nurses found it in Leonard's pocket. The captain should probably take a look at it." He presses it into Spock's hand before taking his leave to check on his colleague turned patient and going to his office to start a medical report he's loath to write.

Uhura stares at the chip, a horrible weight settling in her gut. There could be anything on that chip but her intuition is screaming at her that they're not going to like what it holds. "I can begin decoding it."

"The Captain..." starts Spock.

"Has more pressing concerns at the moment. If it's nothing then we don't need to bother him with it and if there's something... we can prepare the captain for it."

Spock tips his head in agreement. It goes against protocol and Spock's natural course of action but he defers to Uhura's grace in navigating complex human emotions. All the logic in the world can't guide him through the mind filed the crew now finds themselves in.

* * *

Jim checks the time again. His Uhura enforced timeout of four hours isn't up yet but he's already itching to go back to medbay. He is a grown ass adult and really can go back any time he wants but his crew is tenacious and no doubt have his door under surveillance so they know the second he goes against their mandate. He's the captain but his crew are the ones holding things together right now and he can't afford to piss them off. So he lays there, waiting for sleep, or news, or his time to run out, whichever comes first. Whatever releases him from this purgatory, he has enough time to run through their mission and return again. Maybe this time he'll imagine he didn't have his head up his ass the weeks leading up to McCoy's kidnapping.

* * *

It's a subtle minute change at first, one that would no doubt go unnoticed by human observation skills. The monitors have barely registered the change in respiration or the tensing of muscle that Spock meticulously catalogues out of the corner of his eye while reading through his stack of daily reports.

He pauses in his task to observe the doctor more intently, the captain's words, a desperate plea, to be notified at any change weighing heavily on the commander's next course of action. While sitting at the doctor's bedside isn't physically draining, he does recognize that it is emotionally taxing on a species that prides themselves on experiencing them.

Spock's debating the literal and figurative selection of human speech against siding with his T'hy'la's orders over his captain's, when McCoy opens his eyes. There's confusion on the doctor's face, instantly replaced with sheer terror the second Spock puts his PADD down.

"You are in medbay within Yorktown recovering from injuries you sustained while in the alternate universe," informs the Vulcan, loud, clear and precise, in a bid to avoid the confusion fuelled episode of the previous day. His words do not have the desired effect. Where the doctor is often overly emotional, this goes beyond, into something more resembling the fear driven response of a wild animal with its leg caught in a trap as opposed to a man.

McCoy's right hand ineffectually claws at his chest, hampered slightly by the post surgery bandaging. Unable to dig out the device he knows lies dormant, acting like an invisible shackle keeping bonded to Satan, he scoots higher up the bed, wild and feral, attempting to put what distance he can between himself and the monster sitting next to his bed in some obscene and cruel mockery of caring. Like it will convince Leonard he's anything other than the architect of Leonard's own personal hell.

"You'd know. It's ya handiwork," croaks McCoy like he hasn't used his voice in awhile. He's been carved and molded like some great masterpiece for the sick enjoyment of others, but no more. If Spock's going to kill him as promised, the smug bastard is going to have to work for it. He's taken everything from Leonard: his friends, his little girl, the life he had and his ability to say goodbye to any of them; everything except Leonard's ability to be the biggest pain in the ass possible. McCoy's willing to prove just what an uncooperative bastard he can be.

He's back in Spock's clutches which must mean something happened to Jim. Even if it wasn't his Jim and some horrific murderous copy, he still wouldn't wish Jim at the mercy of the Vulcan that's derived such pleasure in his torment since the moment Leonard laid eyes on him in his dark and lonely apartment on that stupid vulnerable space station on the edge of that violent and unexplored nebula. His memory from the exchange to ending up here is Spock's chamber of tortures is hazy at best and he feels sluggish and exhausted but he needs to get away.

Spock reaches over to try and grab McCoy so he doesn't end up tumbling out of bed but that seems to agitate the doctor even more.

As Spock reaches out to grab him, McCoy clenches his hand as best he can and lets it fly, punching Spock in the side of the head. He grunts and hisses at contact, his hand exploding in pain but watching the Vulcan's head snap to the side is worth every agonizing second. He won't let Spock touch him again, let him unmake him again; never again.

Spock's stunned for a moment. Not because the doctor's punch was particularly effective or even painful but it is surprising. McCoy's greatest weapon is his mouth, wielding it often and precisely at Spock, but his oath to protect people ceases McCoy's ability to cause harm to another unless in dire circumstances. The fact that he would view Spock's aid as a personal attack is most troubling. He doesn't have time to change his tactic, the way the doctor is now favoring his injured hand as he continues to struggle against Spock is all the proof he needs that if he doesn't stop the doctor, he will further injure himself.

It's hard to get a proper grip on the doctor's arms as he continues to flail about, slipping from Spock's grasp every time he believes he has a grip. With all the commotion, the doctor's sleeve is pushed up leaving his forearm exposed and bear. Spock's too busy concentrating on subduing the doctor without causing harm that his mental fortitude slips slightly as his hand gains contact with the doctor's arm. He's immediately overcome with a wash of emotion and images that spill freely from McCoy's chaotic mind unbidden. It's a violation of the doctor's privacy and a Vulcan taboo but being a touch telepath requires concentration when touching species that do not have the mental skill to stop their thoughts and feelings from being broadcast all over the place and Spock has inadvertently let his control slip for just a moment.

He flinches back like McCoy has just burned him. It's like being caught in a hurricane and Spock struggles to make sense of what he's seen, to find some sort of order in the chaos McCoy has inflicted upon him.

The commotion has caught the attention of the medical staff, who enter the room and instead of calming the doctor, McCoy panics even more at their presence. Options limited, Spock uses the only choice available that will both calm the doctor and protect him from further harming himself. He manages to snake a hand past McCoy and reach the junction where his neck meets his shoulder. Applying the appropriate pressure, Spock renders McCoy unconscious via nerve pinch but not before a look of utter condemnation creeps over McCoy's face.

No longer struggling, the medical team is able to move in and begin assessing McCoy's reaction and the harm he has inadvertently done to himself. Spock steps out of the way, unsure if the ends justify the means. Based on the look on the Captain's face, who must have returned the same time the medical team was alerted to McCoy's awakening, Spock has made a miscalculation.

Jim stands near the door in absolute horror. Somewhere deep down, he knows Spock would never do anything to hurt McCoy and such extreme measures would only be a last resort to protect the doctor but the image of Leonard bleeding out on the surface of a planet in that god forsaken universe is still fresh in his mind. He knows the pattern of every bruise, scrap and cut that litters McCoy's body; all there because Jim wasn't around to protect him from any of it.

McCoy has breached consciousness twice now and both times Jim hasn't been able to recognize his friend. McCoy's usually a cranky badger not a cornered ornery shrew. There's genuine fear in Leonard's eyes when he wakes and it tears Jim up inside. McCoy should feel relief and safety when he sees his friends not terror that he has to fight tooth and nail to escape.

"What the hell happened?" snaps Jim, like it's somehow Spock's fault. If he can't keep his Spocks straight in his head, how can any of them expect McCoy, who was kidnapped in the first place by who he believed was their commander, to know the difference? Jim's blood runs cold as he considers the fact that McCoy might be under the assumption that it is his friends who have done this. They know McCoy was in an alternate universe full of their doppelgangers, but what if Leonard believes it was them?

"The doctor was causing himself harm. I..." answers Spock but Jim's gone numb to everything to listen. He waves his first officer off, the world falling away as he imagines what a world where he would be the one to torture his doctor and friend. "Not now Spock," breaths Jim following behind the medical team as they move McCoy from his recovery room for better assessment on what damage he inflicted on himself.

* * *

There's something eerily familiar about the gentle buzz of background noise that manages to penetrate the thick darkness of Leonard's mind. It's comforting in its rhythm and there's a faint smell that's as welcoming to him as a bottle of brandy shared with Jim back home; he's in a medbay. It feels like home and he wants to wrap himself in this made up comfort for the rest of his days.

There's a throbbing in his head and things are a little fuzzy around the edges but the last clear thought he has is pushing Kirk out of the way of Spock's deadly wrath. There's some fleeting memory, more of a feeling really, that Jim, his Jim with the warm smile and cocksure grin had been there. A faint echo of someone talking about going home rattles around his brain but it's as elusive as trying to catch a ghost walking in the halls. He should be dead and he's not. There's no way death would leave him with this insatiable ache feeding on every nerve ending and muscle in his body. It's not agony, there're drugs in his system weighing him down and dulling the sting but they're not strong enough to remove the pain completely; only death can do that. Clearly Spock or Kirk aren't through with him yet.

McCoy cracks an eye open and groans as the light pierces his skull like a hot blade. It's a reminder of the pain this universe inflicts on souls for just existing and something McCoy's become all too familiar with. He goes to throw his arm over his face and block out the vengeful accusation the world is throwing at him, when his arm refuses to move. Alarm starts shorting out his brain, his breathing speeding up as he realizes he's right back where this whole never ending nightmare began. Spock warned him about still being on the Enterprise. The sweet thought of freedom was nothing more than a cruel trick his mind was playing in him, having gotten on the same page as everyone else in this universe; if only his soul had gotten that memo too.

He's about to start struggling in earnest when he glances down towards his arm and finds a mop of blond hair. His arm's not restrained at all, rather Jim's head's laying on it. And it has to be his Jim because only his Jim would sit with him all night and risk screwing his back up by sleeping hunched over him like this.

He can't help but stare, but the more he does, the more he catalogues the lines of tension in Jim's face that form when he's under stress. He's sleeping which means Jim's exhausted himself and probably hasn't been sleeping or eating properly since Leonard last nagged him about either. If universal constants have remained the same while McCoy's been gone, the moron is probably sporting a few injuries under that proper command gold uniform of his, that medical doesn't know about. For the first time in he can't remember, he feels safe and whole. Leonard almost doesn't want to wake him up so he can savor this moment for all it's worth, but he needs his hand back if he's going to hold something to quench his parched throat.

"Jim," he croaks. It's so quiet, he can barely hear it so there's no way it's going to penetrate Jim's thick skull.

He tries again a little louder. "Jim." It catches in his dry throat and ignites a coughing fit that rattles his whole body. Jim's eyes snap open at the distressing sound and if Leonard could catch his breath he'd wave off his captain's growing panic. He knows he's caused his friend enough worry over the last few days.

Jim's heart starts to beat faster and he's sitting upright and sliding off his stool in an instant. "I'll get M'Benga."

"No," chokes Leonard and he shakes his head to make sure his point is made in the absence of his usual commanding tone. He doesn't need to be fussed over and he certainly doesn't want to be alone. If Jim walks out that door, even if it's just to grab one of Leonard's staff, there's a chance this could all be a dream and Jim won't be back. McCoy just wants to savor this. "Water."

Jim sits back down and pours a glass of water from the jug sitting on the side table. He pointedly ignores McCoy's scowl when he refuses to let Leonard try and juggle the glass by himself. "I can grab M'Benga if you want. He's just down the hall putting together his surgical report. Or Nurse Chapel if you'd rather. Anything you want, Bones, just name it."

The water is cool and perfect or perhaps it just tastes better because he's home. McCoy licks his dry lips. There's a thousand questions he could ask, some he probably should ask, like what's his prognosis and how the hell did Jim kobayashi maru his way out of this one, but he's home, he's finally home and that's all that matters this second. "Nah. I'm good, I'm home."

His eyes start to slide shut, far too heavy to keep open, so he's definitely on drugs. He's just about to drift when a troubling thought stabs through his chest. He looks Jim straight in the eye, because no matter the truth, he needs to know. "I am home right?" The only thing worse than being stuck in that hell would be if he got Jim stuck there with him.

Jim squeezes Leonard's hand and he realizes that Jim never actually let go of it. "You're home, Bones," answers the captain with absolute conviction.

"Good," clips Leonard before settling back on his pillow. The tension drains out of his limbs and he soaks up the warm comfort of the Yorktown medbay blankets. "We'll talk about ya riskin your fool neck ta come get me from that hell hole later."

"At length," agrees Jim, the sparkle finally coming back to his eyes. "Once you're out of here. I look forward to it." For the first time in his life, he's actually looking forward to getting chewed out by McCoy.

"Jus ya wait... teach ya to do stupid things..." mumbles Leonard as he finally nods off to dreams that aren't bathed in blood and fear.

"Just sleep. I'll be here to make sure nothing happens," reassures Jim. Nothing in this universe is going to tear him away from McCoy's bedside. He fights back the tears that are burning his eyes. For a brief moment he had the McCoy he remembered. The little glimpse gives him hope that this might be the first step to getting back to normal and putting this nightmare behind them. It's probably too much to hope his friend will be spared the scars from this but right now Jim wants to pretend so bad that the next time Leonard wakes, it will be like the alternate universe never happened.


	3. Chapter 3

Leonard's eyes snap open. The artificial light of morning is filling the room and his limbs have the weight of exhaustion holding them down. His heart is beating fast and he's sharply alert for having just escaped the confines of sleep. He lies there, perfectly still, waiting. Waiting for what, he isn't sure, but he feels like the field mouse about to have the snake's jaws close around him. His memories have an ethereal quality to them and most lurk just out of his grasp. There's one of Jim, hands covered in green blood as he lets the go of the knife in Spock's gut, yet another of Jim offering him water and promising he's safe. He has one of Spock insisting he's home but also promising unimaginable horror should he find himself back on Enterprise. They dance around his consciousness like an itch that needs to be scratched. He's not sure which are real or if any of them are. There's a storm brewing and all his thoughts and memories feel tainted somehow. What does he have if he can't trust his own memories?

There's an echo of a conversation with Jim. Jim, ever the hero, brought Leonard's sorry ass home, no doubt at great risk to Jim himself and the away team. Hell, the kid even seemed enthusiastic to let Leonard rant and rave. But was is real? He had that same dream many times over the last few weeks, especially while Sulu was intent on carving up every square inch of his flesh like a Thanksgiving Day turkey.

"Are you alright?" asks Jim, hesitant like McCoy might bite him or something and that's not like Jim at all. It's certainly not how Leonard would imagine his friend.

The question startles Leonard. He hadn't realized he wasn't alone. That question is far more complex than it has any right to be. He's in medical, somewhere, and his right hand is bandaged up pretty good, to the point where his skills as a doctor tell him he doesn't want to know what's lurking underneath. Jim's sitting with him, not killing him, but looking like someone kicked his dog and Leonard's the only on that can save it. And somehow that's equally as terrifying as the bloody psychopath Spock promised. The whole situation's too depressing to be anything other than real but if it is some wild flight of fancy to escape whatever McCoy's frail body is withstanding, then he'll t grip it tightly with both hands and pretend for as long as possible, or at least until Spock pops up to drag him back to hell.

It's a simple question with an equally simple answer but McCoy's wracking his brain to come up with something tangible and can't. He has medical school and Starfleet under his belt and he can't formulate a yes or no to 'is he alright.' Is he alright? Clearly not. Being in medbay is usually a red flag for no but he's sixty percent sure he's no longer in a fucked up word where his friends are deranged killers so that swings the pendulum into yes. No: he's spent how long being tortured, for people's entertainment no less. Yes: he's alive and that wasn't a given a few days (weeks?) ago. Is he alright in this moment? Overall? Holy shit, is he having an existential crisis because someone asked him if he was ok? That sounds like a mental breakdown waiting to happen. Perhaps Spock really broke him after all.

"Bones?" asks Jim hesitantly. McCoy has that look in his eye like he's about to lose his shit.

Jim's looking at him expectantly, like he might live or die at Leonard's next words and he still can't come up with a yes or no. He's wandered into pathetic territory and gotten so lost he can never hope to be found.

"Stupid question, I know. Of course you're not alright," says Jim in his smooth apologetic diplomat voice, filling in the silence that's washed over them. "I guess, I mean, do you need anything?"

McCoy shakes his head because he can manage that. The list of things he _wants_ is endless. He wants the last look Chekov gave him to fade from memory, the way the light faded from the kid's eyes. He wants Chapel's accusations to melt away and Spock's presence, that seems to feel like it slithers and clings to his skin, to vanish. He wants these to not be memories that stand out bright and shiny against the darkness that has become his mind. He wants his sanity, god damn it!

"Did it really happen?" McCoy asks, small and broken, but so much hope rides on those words. If it was all just a dream, some wizard of Oz bullshit, he might be able to pull the pieces together and rebuild. If it was real though, those cracks and jagged edges are going to be impossible to smooth over.

Jim looks pained, like McCoy's a piece of glass that will shatter under his words. McCoy's pretty sure there aren't any pieces left big enough to break.

"Yeah, it happened."

Silence hangs in the air reeking of death and mourning. It's oppressive and loud and threatens to wash away the sandy remains of Leonard's being like a tide returning to the sea.

"But important thing is we got you back. We brought you home."

Is that the important thing? McCoy knows Jim means for it to be reassuring and a beacon of light to guide and warm him after the storm he just weathered, but it feels hollow and empty. All he wanted was to survive and return home and now that he's here, he feels like maybe he would be better off if they'd just left him there.

Jim's talking, explaining what happened after they realized he was gone, but McCoy isn't listening, not really. He's too busy concentrating on the bottomless pit that's formed in the center of his soul, threatening to swallow him whole. It howls like a tornado, beating against every defense Leonard has left. It's a wonder Jim can't hear it.

"Bones?" Jim waves his hand in front of McCoy's face, trying to break the hundred yard stare that isn't seeing anything in the room. "Where'd you go?"

"Hell. I went to hell because of you." Leonard can picture himself saying the words, hear them spilling over his tongue and feel them burying themselves in Jim like all the blades that took down the mighty Caesar, but he knows none of them make it past his lips. He doesn't have it in him to hurt Jim, especially with lies.

Jim looks hesitant, unsure when he asks, "Why don't you tell me what you remember?" And for some reason that's funny to Leonard. Jim's cocksure, impulsive, fearless and a god damn tyrant. Asking something of McCoy shouldn't make him nervous. "Straight to the debrief then, Captain."

Jim looks slightly ashamed but maybe a little disappointed. "It's not like that, Leonard. This isn't anything official. I just want to know what happened."

 _'_ _If you'd bothered to show that night, you'd know,'_ echoes through McCoy's head.

What happened? Leonard doesn't know how to answer that. He remembers nothing but feels all of it. There's terrible images rolling around in his head and a few memories that are so clear they rival the world he sees now, yet there are more, hiding in the dark recesses of his mind like the monster under the bed he used to check for at Joanna's request, waiting to pop out and revisit themselves on his mind. The last thing he wants to do is poke the hibernating bear and unleash a wrath that is mercifully dormant at the moment.

He knows what Spock did; that wound is so deep it threatens to fracture the whole universe but how does he begin to put that into words? Swallowing, Leonard bites his lip like he can lock the information away for eternity and then he might be able to forget completely. His captain just sits at his bedside, patiently waiting for any crumb the doctor sees fit to offer to help him navigate the treacherous trail. Something evil always lurks at the end of the path, disguised as something hopeful to lure them all into a false sense of security.

There's no escaping this conversation. Jim's trying very hard to hide an official inquiry made by a captain to his officer returning from an away mission; official channels demanding some sort of debrief before a more formal report can be written. Even if Jim wasn't his captain, he's Leonard's friend and eventually Jim would ask just so he could begin to understand how to ease the doctor's burden.

"I was waiting," starts McCoy and it's like he's sitting in his apartment that fateful night all this started, all over again. "I thought it was you at the door but it was Spock."

It takes everything Jim has to keep his mouth shut as Leonard starts his story. Apologies want to profusely fall from his lips that he wasn't there when it mattered most. Honestly, he can't remember what or who had been more important in that moment than meeting with McCoy as promised. 'I'm sorry' isn't some magic bandage that fixes everything; it might not fix anything in this case. The words seem so grievously inadequate but Jim has nothing more to offer at the moment. Unfortunately there are so many blanks in what happened. He has to know what kind of animal they're dealing with and the only one with the answers at the moment is the one person that should be protected from all of it.

"We struggled." McCoy shakes his head. There wasn't much of a struggle; he wasn't yet aware of his role as the sheep about to be blindsided by the wolf. "It was over quick. The damn hobgoblin nerve pinched me. Don't know what happened after that."

Kirk's quiet and reserved as he asks, "What about in the other universe?"

The corner of the blanket covering McCoy suddenly becomes fascinating. He picks at it with his thumb and forefinger like he can somehow beat the un-frayable fabric. "Woke up in their sickbay on their Enterprise. Apparently you're a pain in the ass there too, cause _Captain Spock_ has a special hatred burning for you. Pike had killed me so Spock came lookin' for a new McCoy he could trade to Kirk. The people over there... they're animals. Soulless killers and power hungry maniacs, the lot of 'em." Moisture gathers at the corners of his eyes as he finally looks up and locks eyes with his friend. "The things those people are capable of..." The words catch in his throat. No matter how hard he tries he can't force them out. He can feel Spock's hand on the side of his face and see every threat Spock promised play out before him.

"Captain," comes from the doorway and Leonard knows that voice as surely and as intimately as he knows his own. His eyes dart towards the door and oh god it can't be. Jim promised he put a whole universe between them, but Spock's here! He's here and ...

_McCoy's volatile protest comes to a crashing halt as pain fierce as a white hot poker being run through his body brings him to his knees. The epicenter of his agony is the device lodged underneath his collarbone, too deep for him to claw it free from his body but he tries anyways. It feels like he's drowning in a sea of pure agony and he can't break the surface to catch his breath, not matter how hard he tries. He screams himself hoarse in a matter of seconds and just as he prays for merciful death, it stops. The pain is gone but he's still a writhing mess on the floor._

_"You will cease making noise," says Spock casually, stepping towards the pile of Leonard on the floor. He kicks McCoy over on to his back. "It appears your insistent chatter is universal. If you're not careful doctor, your mouth will get you killed again."_

_"What the hell did you do to me!"_

_Spock raises a stern finger in warning. "You will address me as Captain. If you fail to do so or follow any other command I give, you will suffer the agonizer I've had Nurse Chapel insert. Should you try and tamper with it, it will turn on and stay on until I arrive to disarm it. Is any of this in anyway unclear?"_

_"No," snarls Leonard. This time when the agonizer unleashes its ungodly pain upon him it lasts for only a second. It's enough, coupled with the expectant eyebrow of Spock's, to remind Leonard just how limited his options and recourse are. "No_ Captain _."_

The Enterprise fades away but Spock does not. The room is dark and barren. Like a huge cavern, McCoy's breaths echo off the distant walls which are so far away, they're obscured by the darkness. He's on his knees, like a dog before its master, unable and unwilling to summon the energy to move. Spock towers over him like a monument to be worshipped, stone faced and impassive. It's just the two of them in all of creation and yet it feels too crowded; existence clearly isn't big enough for the both of them.

"Did you really think you could run from me?" demands Spock and his voice is so loud and consuming it shakes the universe and reverberates along every bone in McCoy's body until it rattles around his skull like a pinball.

Spock raises his hand; McCoy's stomach drops. Not again. Anything but that. He tries to move, to crawl away, but Spock's god like tone has shattered his bones, leaving them useless piles of dust weighing McCoy down. He tries to cry out for help or even to beg for a merciful end from Spock, just not this. No sound escapes him as the Vulcan's hand comes closer.

And closer.

And closer, until he can feel the heat of Spock's hand as it hovers just over the side of McCoy's face. So close it barely brushes against his skin like the caress of a ghost. Spock's hand presses against him an it's like getting hit in the face with a shuttle as McCoy's world explodes in a Technicolor kaleidoscope of pain and agony from which there is no escape.

"Bones?"

Leonard can hear the squeal of Jim's chair as it scrapes across the floor. The sound fills the void that his ragged breaths normally would, except his traitorous lungs seem to have forgotten how to pull air in.

"Bones, breathe!" Jim puts his hands on Leonard's face so he has no choice but to look Jim in the eyes. It's worked before, when McCoy's aviophobia was still so bad, just stepping onto the flight deck caused McCoy to freeze up and hyperventilate. Today it seems to have the opposite effect, pushing McCoy over the edge into a full blown panic attack. "Bones!"

M'Benga appears out of thin air, pulling Jim back by the shoulder. "Captain, I need you to step out."

Jim licks his lip and takes a second to get his bearings. He's calm under pressure when he's on the bridge of his ship, here though, he's almost as panicked as McCoy. The best doctor he knows is Leonard McCoy. Since the best is the one in need of care, Jim's glad M'Benga is here. McCoy trusts him, so he has to be good. He looks from M'Benga to the med team working on calming Leonard down.

"Alright," snaps Kirk, throwing his hands up in surrender. He turns on his heels and storms out of the room, Spock trailing behind him like a faithful shadow the second Jim crosses the threshold.

Jim's a snowball of pent up frustration and anger, just rolling down hill and getting larger by the second until it's so huge it threatens to crush someone. He rubs his hands up his face, through his hair and then down his neck.

"What the hell happened in there?" asks Jim. It's rhetorical; he's seen episodes like that before. They were talking and it had been going well, but then the bottom fell out of the world.

Jim glances through the window into McCoy's room. There's a war being waged in there and he's stuck on the sidelines, useless and helpless.

"It would appear my presence has caused the doctor a great deal of discomfort," says Spock blandly. It's a crude hypothesis; his time to collect data was limited and his mediation on the images he saw from the doctor's mind still require analysing but it seems the most logical conclusion.

Jim stares at his first officer bewildered and equal parts pissed off before he remembers that rhetorical is usually lost on his Vulcan friend. He kicks a cart that's been left in the corridor and looks on with satisfaction as its contents go clanging down the corridor. His foot hurts, enough that he can't rule out having fractured one of the bones, but this pain feels too good to care. The cart is a helpless victim because he can't punish his crew and those responsible are too far away.

Spock opens his mouth to comment but Jim turns on him like a pissed off bear so he settles for raising an eyebrow.

With nothing else in the corridor, Jim goes on a search for something else to break. He makes it a couple of meters to the waiting room and stops when he sees Uhura standing there. She looks fragile and broken with bad news written all over her.

She looks away from her captain towards Spock. "Did you tell him?"

Jim doesn't wait for Spock to answer. "Tell me what?" he snaps. He's tired of people walking on eggshells around him, trying to protect him when their efforts should be directed solely towards fixing McCoy; especially when it can't get any worse.


	4. Chapter 4

The threat is gone or never really existed if everyone’s gentle whispers and words of supposed comfort are anything to believe.  McCoy can’t bring himself to care much either way.  He knows medical protocol and worse he knows the feeling of the light sedative weighing him down; not enough to knock him out, just enough to take the edge off and make him pliant.  He’d glare and scowl at the staff as they flutter out of the room but it takes too much energy.  He’s pretty sure his resting bitch face gets the point across quite eloquently though.  If that wasn’t enough of a signal, turning his back towards the door and curling into his pillow is definitely screaming fuck off.

McCoy lets out a huff that gets buried under the sound of wheels rolling across the floor.  Even though M’Benga rolls his chair into Leonard’s eye line, McCoy looks anywhere besides his colleague. 

“Do you feel up to talking about what happened?” asks M’Benga with cautious optimism.  He can treat physical symptoms all day long but without insight into McCoy’s mental state he can’t begin to piece his friend and colleague back together.

“No.”  Even the bitterness in McCoy’s own voice makes him flinch.  He doesn’t want a well meaning conversation by someone that wants to help and understand.  He doesn’t want to be analyzed or have his condition explained to him; he’s got it figured out, thanks, and the rest he could take a good professional guess about too.  He’s burdened with the medical knowledge that applies to someone having survived the hell he’s be plucked from and now has the dismay of applying that knowledge first hand.

M’Benga glances over the PADD in his hand, consulting the file on his patient.  “I know the results of what happened and can make some pretty educated guesses as to the how of everything, but we need you to fill in the who and whys.”

McCoy rolls his eyes.  Everyone wants to know but they don’t really.  He knows Geoff means well but he’s played this game from M’Benga’s end many times before.  If he’s gained anything, it’s a healthy understanding of just what a pain in the ass people in his former position are to where he is now.  “Nothing personal, Geoff, but I have little desire to rehash the particulars of what it was like to have those perversions cut into me.”  He lived it once and that was enough.  He started to open up to Jim and look how that turned out.  Right now, forgetting seems the only viable option.  “As to the why’s, that’s what those twisted sons of bitches do for thrills over there, so I’m good on the share and care.”

M’Benga doesn’t flinch in the face of McCoy’s hostility, just writes a couple of notes in Leonard’s file like the competent professional Leonard knows him to be.  “You’re going to have to talk about it eventually, Leonard.  You yourself would recommend counselling if our situations were reversed.

“Knowin’  I need to talk about it and actually talkin’ about it are two different things.”

“True.  But being an officer means you have to discuss it sooner or later.  It might be easier to do it sooner.”  They both know if Leonard wants to continue to not only serve but practice medicine with Starfleet he needs certification that he’s physically and mentally capable to be back at his post.  Without a councillor’s approval of his psych evaluation he’s never getting off medical leave.  There’s also the dreaded debrief that comes with the privilege of this unwanted away mission.  “We also need to discuss treatment, particularly for your hand.”

McCoy knows there’s damage there even if he hasn’t seen his own medical chart yet. Sulu tried to cut his damn finger off and Spock hardly has any medical training, even if he wanted to do more than just stop the bleeding to keep Leonard alive.  It’s a parting gift from the mirror universe that could derail any shot he has at getting his life back here but what’s worse, Leonard can’t picture himself wanting it back.  It was the only thing keeping him going over there and now that he’s on the other side of it, he just feels like a stranger in his own life.  He’s become a square peg that won’t fit into the round hole of this universe.

“Just give me the damn report and I’ll fill it in myself.  Give Starfleet every gory detail they’re lookin for,” bites McCoy, because if Starfleet wants details about what happened, he give them every damn dirty detail.  He’ll layout the script for a horror movie dripping with so much spilled blood it will stain the page.  Maybe once the vultures have had their fill of this satanic peepshow they’ll all leave him alone.  He just needs everyone to leave him alone and let him rot in peace.

“I think writing an official report can wait a bit,” M’Benga cautions.  “It wouldn’t be valid right now because of the sedative and the post op drugs.”

“Right,” sighs McCoy and there’s so much defeat in his voice it makes him want to cry.  Geoff explains with tight restraint what he and his team had to do to get Leonard to this pint before prattling on about the schedule of surgeries and treatments they have lined up to erase the damage to Leonard’s hand.  McCoy’s not really listening.  His good hand shakes at the thought of having to perform surgery.  What kind of doctor trembles at the sight of blood?  Not one with much of a career to go back to, that’s who; assuming the cards fall in his favor and he gets his damaged hand back to one hundred percent.

“You’re still trapped, you know,” says Kirk with that self-satisfied ‘I’m a genius and I know it’ looks upon his face.  There’s something about him leaning casually in the corner of the room that makes him look smugger.

Leonard will admit, Jim often has things figured out, long before the rest of them even start to realize what’s going on, so he isn’t surprised Jim’s come to the same conclusion that’s been tumbling around the back of McCoy’s mind.  There’s the straight up fear that this is all some allusion or delusion between torture sessions and he’s right back on that corrupt version of the Enterprise; the last place Spock warned him to be.  Even if he’s not, and he’s not sure he can ever be really sure he isn’t, his life isn’t entirely his own yet.  There’s medical to deal with, then psych, which could be his jailor for years to come as they work out all the fractures Spock created in his soul.  The life he fought so hard to get back to is still out of reach.

“I told you, you should have taken out Spock when you had the chance.  Now you’re nothing more than a hamster in one of his damned experiments,” criticises Kirk like he gave Leonard all the answers to the test and he still managed to fail.

McCoy doesn’t have the patience for this; to be bullied by Jim, especially when he’s lurking around in that damned gold uniform with the golden sash hanging around his hips.  “Go away!”

M’Benga stops talking and purses his lips together.  “Alright,” he says kindly, like McCoy’s direction was aimed at him.  “We can talk about this later.  You should get some rest now.”  He pats Leonard gently on the knee as he takes his leave and all McCoy can do is stare dumbly after him before realizing Jim’s faded away into nothing.

Perfect.  He can add hallucinations from the sedatives to his list of shit he doesn’t need right now.  McCoy buries his face in his pillow.  If there’s any kindness left in the universe, it will allow him to smother himself.

* * *

 

Uhura glances around the waiting room and down the hall at the sporadic flow of people moving through. “This isn’t the best place for this.”  Her voice is shaky and when she tilts her head just right, Jim can see the dried tear tracks on her face.  She’s the consummate professional, always steadfast, yet this has cracked her hard exterior shell.

“Here’s fine,” insists Jim.  It’s cold and pissy and not becoming of a captain, but he’s run out of energy to keep his feelings about this disaster bottled up.  He’s not going to leave, to allow Spock and Uhura to coddle him while McCoy’s walking a tightrope between reality and insanity. 

“Jim,” says Spock, softly.

The tone is like a knife in Jim’s resolve.  Whatever it is, it’s bad.  And not a bad, raise shields and go to red alert kind of bad, but a we’re drowning in quicksand in the giant hole we’ve found ourselves in sort of way, otherwise they’d just come out and say it.  He grinds his molars together and shakes his head firm, yet minutely, as if forcing them to say it here will somehow change the facts and make whatever they know less horrible.  And it has to be horrible because life only seems to have two speeds lately: tolerable and horrifying.

Uhura grabs a hold of Kirk’s arm and pulls him down the corridor.  There’s no good place for this but there has to be somewhere better than the middle of the hall outside Leonard’s room.  Spock follows behind them, a silent sentry to their death march.  Jim doesn’t want to move, to leave his position in case M’Benga comes looking for him; defeat and trepidation at what dark secret lurks within his officers renders him incapable of holding his position.  He once begged Marcus to spare his crew; there’s no one to beg or offer himself to in order to make this any better.

Uhura leads them to a supply closet; tight, intimate and devoid of prying eyes.  There’s no easy way to tell the captain, yet she can’t leave him to wander around the minefield without some kind of map.  It’s in Leonard’s best interest, in all their best interests, to lay all cards on the table, she tells herself.  She doesn’t know if she can get through it without breaking down again but despite Spock’s best intentions it will probably sound better coming from her.  There’s a tiny selfish part that needs to share this so she isn’t one of the only ones burdened with this heavy stone of information.  Jim isn’t even aware she’s still holding his hand, which is a firm indicator of how badly this is going to go.

“Scotty and Chekov have figured out the device Dr M’Benga removed from Leonard,” she starts and already her throat is becoming tight. 

Uhura is being overly gentle with him.  Jim’s seen this side of her with a few people but never with him.  Their whole relationship is based on quiet respect and loud disapproval (mostly of Jim).  The last time someone was this gentle with him, he was five on the farm and his mother had to sit him down and tell him a coyote had come in the night and killed the baby lamb he’d taken a shine to.  “What... what was it for?” he asks hesitantly.  McCoy isn’t dead like the lamb, though Jim has a feeling that he’ll probably wish he was dead when he finds out what those twisted fucks did to his friend.

Uhura tries to force the words out, to get some sound from her throat.  All the words she knows in all the languages and she can’t find any to take the sting out of what she needs to say.  There are no adequate words of comfort to ease the tear in their souls that this revelation is going to so carelessly punch through.

“It is a device used to inflict pain.  Based on the inner workings, it receives a signal from a remote in which the controller can regulate duration and intensity at their discretion.   It is our hypothesis that it was inserted under the doctor’s collar bone to prevent him from removing it or tampering with it,” explains Spock.  They are facts like any other yet presenting them to his captain seems more difficult than usual.  It seems the doctor’s predicament is affecting him as it is the rest of the crew.  He makes a mental note to spare some time, sooner, rather than later to meditate on the images he inadvertently saw in McCoy’s mind and assess the level of emotional transference that must be interfering with his emotional control. 

He hands over the official report compiled from the medical team that worked to put McCoy back together when they brought him home.  It’s a gruesome report filled with atrocities that highlight the volatile, emotional and illogical nature of their counterparts.  Spock can find no logic in the horror visited upon McCoy, not even after learning his counterpart’s motivation in the original crime of kidnapping the doctor.  The lengths that Spock went to in order to save his Uhura are understandable and perhaps Spock can even sympathise with them, but what followed lacks the symmetry of reason.

The news settles on Jim like a lead weight.  Torture isn’t new to him, in theory or actuality, but McCoy’s a god damn doctor; a healer.  He risks everything to help people.  He’s not like Jim or anyone else in command or security who actively make decisions on occasion that will take lives and cause harm.  McCoy would rather die than willingly harm another being. Over there, however, they saw fit to go to these lengths to inflict pain.  They cut onto McCoy, beat him bloody, try to mutilate him and apparently they didn’t stop there.

The coffee that has been sustaining Jim threatens to make a violent reappearance as he reads line after line.  It’s all there, simplified on a PADD like it happened to someone else, only it didn’t, it happened to Leonard.  Even skipping over the medical jargon, it paints a pretty damning picture.  There’s prognosis on McCoy’s hand, a statistical analysis of the probable outcomes of procedures and surgeries that can help restore the damaged nerves that McCoy counts on for dexterity in surgery.  He’d been trying very hard to ignore that particular bandaged elephant in the room but it’s hard to ignore that the numbers here don’t add up to a one hundred percent guarantee.  It’s another reminder of just how much he’s failed someone he has no right to fail; not after all the faith McCoy’s put into him.

“There’s more,” adds Uhura, knowing the next part will crush Jim the exact same way it crushed her.  “I was able to decode the data file Leonard had in his pocket.  There was a report he made containing everything he was able to learn over there and his theories about what was going on.”

She talks a deep breath to steel herself for the next part.  “He also made a vid.  Two actually.”

Jim’s thumb taps the play icon before Uhura can say anymore.  The screen lights up with Leonard filling most of it.  McCoy fidgets uncomfortably in his seat.  There’s a long stretch of silence before his friend finds the courage to look right at the camera and say, “Hey baby girl,” with forced jubilation.  It cuts through the small closet setting Jim on edge.  He knows what this is before Leonard can continue.  This is McCoy’s farewell screaming loud and clear in the confined space between Jim, Uhura and Spock in a supply closet in Yorktown medical tucked safely away from the nightmare that forced such a message.

 It feels like an intrusion, a violation, but Jim forces himself to watch, because if McCoy could live it, he sure as hell can witness it. 

 McCoy clears his throat.  “Hey hummin bird,” he says gently. “I know you’re probably sad right now and I want you to know that’s okay.  I also need ya to know, you are the best thing I ever did hummin bird and I have never been prouder of all you’ve done or all you’re gonna do.  Don’t let anything stand in your way baby, cause you are stronger than you could ever imagine, with the biggest heart anyone in this universe could possibly have.  I’ve known that since I first laid eyes on ya.  You were so small and perfect.  And whatever you do in life, through the good times and the bad, even though you can’t see me, I’m with ya baby.”

Leonard swipes at the unshed tears stinging his eyes with the back of his hand.  “If you need anything, sweetheart, Uncle Jim will help out anyway he can. You’re going to be fine.  I’ve never been surer of anything in my life.”  Leonard looks up at the camera and smiles, large and warm despite the way it pulls at his split lip.  “I love you Joanna, always will.”

The screen goes black and Jim can’t imagine the strength it would take to hand this to Joanna let alone have to be the one to record it.  For all his grumblings and cheerful pessimism, McCoy holds on to hope tighter than any of them.  For him to make the decision to make a goodbye message for his little princess means the doctor was not only prepared to die but that death was a certainty.

            Jim taps to play the second message.  If he takes a minute, he won’t be able to go through with it.  He’s a little terrified at what words McCoy would see fit to part him with. The recording starts with McCoy letting out a shaky breath.  His edges are rougher this time though.

“Jim, if you got this then maybe there is a shred of humanity here.  I’ve included a basic report of what happened, though knowing you, you probably figured it out already.”  A sad smile creeps across McCoy’s face.  “I know it’s a crappy way to say good bye and all, but it’s all I got.  I know you tried your best to rescue you me so don’t blame yourself, kid.”

Jim swallows hard.  McCoy’s staring death in the face, taking some of what could have been his last moments to say goodbye to those he holds dear and he’s worried about Jim blaming himself?  The last person who should be absolving him of his crimes is the one he’s sinned the worst against.  A universe away, and the guy’s still looking out for other people. 

“Everyone’s gotta lose sometime and it’s probably better it’s now rather than when the great Captain Kirk is needed to save the galaxy.  More important than being Captain Kirk, I want you to know, you Jim, were a great friend.  I couldn’t have done it without ya.  You’re gonna do great Jim, just let that pointy eared computer you call a first officer look out for ya every once in awhile.”

Jim glances up to look at Spock and Uhura.  Spock’s as stoic as ever but there’s an unease that’s set in.  Despite the fact that he and McCoy famously don’t get along more often than not, they’ve forged a bond that can withstand their numerous arguments and keep them friends.  It’s easy to forget that Spock feels when his are the only dry eyes in the room, but it’s becoming clear that the Vulcan isn’t unaffected by this turn of events.  Both he and Jim have lost parents and hearing McCoy say good bye to his little girl resonates in both of them. Spock must be rubbing off on his communications officer, because Uhura is holding it together far better than Jim would have predicted.  Her and McCoy have been friends almost as long as McCoy and Jim.

 “Just do me one favor, Jim,” Leonard starts, the tears coming unbidden now down his bruised face, “can you look out for Joanna me?  I know this ain’t some small favor and lord knows I haven’t been the best example of a parent to her myself but I need my baby to be alright, okay Jim?  I need to know she’ll have someone to go to.”

Jim’s the captain of a starship, responsible for some four hundred lives and potential relations between the federation and other species in the universe but he weight of being responsible for one life, one small girl in Georgia is daunting.  Who is he to be responsible for a kid?  What the hell was McCoy possibly thinking when he made such a request?  Of course Jim would do it; he’d do it without being asked, but surely there’s someone better that McCoy should want for his little girl. 

            “Tell the crew... ah hell, I don’t know.  Make up somethin profound and tell’em I said it.  Take care out there, ya hear.”

Jim’s fingers clench around the edges of the PADD as he stares at the now black screen.  McCoy could have died over there, nearly did in their medbay some twenty meters from where Jim’s standing now.  Leonard was almost taken permanently from his life and all Jim would have left is a recording absolving him of guilt that’s rightfully his to bear.  Another important person snuffed out of his life and all he’d have is another recording to remember them by.

He wants to drop the PADD, crush it under his boot heel as if to say, ‘not today,’ to the angel of death lurking on his shoulder.  It’s wrong, the whole thing.  McCoy’s not a fly into danger sort of guy, he does that for Jim’s sake; he shouldn’t have been Spock’s pawn.

The PADD finally slips from his fingers, no longer able to hold onto the dirty confession of Leonard’s very real mortality.  It crashes to the floor in an unsatisfying clatter and Jim raises his hands to wash them of it.  He’s on autopilot, a seek and destroy mission to show the universe he’s far worse than its macabre humor.

“Jim,” says Spock, calm and steady, like he can break the spell.  He knows his captain too well to not interrupt the war path Jim’s about to hurtle himself down.

Uhura begs, “Captain,” as he turns to the door that will as his starting gate for destruction.

Jim’s fingers fumble with the lock function on the door control panel.  He’s not in control any more, just a willing passenger on a joyride as something darker, fiercer and protective needs to be exorcised from his being; consequences be damned.

Spock’s hand falls heavy on Jim’s shoulder as the door finally slides open.  It’s a desperate attempt to reach out and hold his friend back from the vacuum of anger and despair trying to suck him out like space through an airlock.  Reason isn’t going to pull Jim back from the brink, it doesn’t stand a chance of weathering the emotional storm he’s in the middle of, but still, Spock must try.  “Jim, please.”

The Vulcan’s hand is like a lasso around a tornado.  The door is open and Jim has to fly but someone is trying to hold him back.  Jim’s delivering a right hook squarely to Spock’s nose before he or Uhura realize he’s turned around.  The crunch is audible as Spock’s head snaps to the side and the more reckless side of Jim should delight in finally getting a hit on his untouchable first officer; sweet retribution for all those hits Jim took during their first mission together to stop Nero, but all he feels is satisfaction of a different kind. 

All he can see is another video of Spock carrying a helpless McCoy to certain doom.  Spock walked onto this station and plucked Leonard from Kirk’s protective reach to ferry him away to unspeakable torment because he wasn’t as careful with his own McCoy as he should have been.

It’s more the unexpected nature of the punch rather than the force of Kirk’s blow that throws off Spock’s balance, sending him back into the shelves and then down to the floor.  He sits there holding his, no doubt, broken nose; green blood painting his uniform as Uhura fawns over him.  The correct course of action fails to come to him.  Spock can’t allow Jim to hurt anyone else, but denying Kirk his rage will lead to another incident like this and any means to stop Jim could bring harm to his friend.

Jim stares at his fist, the bright green blood splattered over his knuckles, staining his skin and his soul.  “I’m sorry, Spock,” he chokes out.  This isn’t his target.  This Spock is his friend but the only one in reach.  He’d looked right at an officer he’d trust with his life and only saw the monster from the other universe.  If he can’t tell them apart, what hope does McCoy have?

Jim’s anger comes to a boil again.  Turning on his heels, he storms into the hall to turn his aggression and fury on something other than his friends.

“Are you alright?” asks Uhura, helping Spock to his feet.

“We must stop him before he does something he cannot take back,” insists Spock.

Uhura glances at the door.  She can hear exactly what her captain is up to.  “Let’s get someone to look at you first.”  The pair make it to the door, Uhura holding Spock’s free hand over her shoulder to help steady him even though they both know he could manage on his own.  The fact that he’s letting her engage in this very emotional human custom is an indulgence that was often missing from their relationship the first time.  It warms her heart to see the effort he’s putting into their second chance since Altamid but has to wonder the impact that the other universe had on Spock as well.

Jim’s destructive war path has pulled the attention of everyone who can spare a moment, so t isn’t hard to find someone to tend to Spock’s nose.  Uhura grabs the first pair of medical clad individuals she sees and passes her charge over.  She can’t help but watch as they escort Spock to the nearest exam room before turning her attention to Kirk.

She shakes her head at the security team that comes rushing down the corridor.  “I’ll handle this.”

The guards stand down but look unsure as Uhura stands beside them, out of the way as Kirk demolishes carts, chairs and anything else that doesn’t stand a chance.  She should stop him before the damage becomes too great to explain away.  And she will... in a minute.  She’ll give him a couple more minutes to tire himself out and expel the demons; mostly so they don’t have to worry about a repeat and because Uhura really wants to smash something too.


	5. Chapter 5

McCoy doesn't know who tells Jim, which poor bastard drew the short straw and had to tell the captain exactly the extent of the physical damage done to his CMO, but he knows the second Jim finds out. Yorktown medbay explodes in a series of crashes and bangs just outside McCoy's room and he knows without a shadow of a doubt none of the equipment in the state of the art facility stands a chance against his friend's ire.

The noise and subsequent destruction plays merry hell on Leonard's nerves. He can't help but flinch at every sound. M'Benga mentioned PSTD in a hushed conversation between himself and Kirk when they thought Leonard was asleep. They do that a lot now, talk about him like he isn't in the room. Normally it would piss him off but he can't summon the energy to care. They're not entirely wrong. He knows he may be physically in the room but mentally he's checked out. Far too often it's to a world where Chekov got his throat slit and Sulu tortures him within an inch of his life, while Spock and Kirk fight over who gets to pick his carcass clean.

McCoy clenches his pillow tightly like it's going to save him from the explosive wrath outside his door. At best it keeps his hands from trembling. He knows Jim's not mad at him, that Jim would never hurt him, except that he did, or rather his counterpart tried.

There are images and memories tumbling around in his head that are not his own and those that are, are about people that are really here. On paper it seems so simple; the monsters live in another universe and even though they look like everyone Leonard holds dear, they are not here. In actuality it's harder to convince himself that he's home.

Listening to Jim fight the world stirs something inside Leonard like an itch he can't scratch. He needs to protect himself but can't quite place against what. Pain explodes in his gut, sharp and fierce and he curls in on himself protectively searching for a wound that's not there. There isn't a knife in his lower abdomen just centimeters from his heart yet he can feel the warmth of blood covering his hand and coating his belly. No matter how hard he stares at his hand, he can't see the blood he feels is there. It starts a spiral of doubt about what's real and what's not. The last thing he was ever sure about was looking up at Jim as he stained red the pristine white sand on a planet with onyx colored sky.

He was wounded saving Jim and there's a disturbing chance that this is all a hallucination as he bleeds out on that planet. Or is he bleeding out on the bridge because Kirk decided he should be captain over Leonard? The recollection of Kirk's mutiny is the most vivid memory Leonard has; every detail is flawless like he's stuck relieving the moment over and over again.

Jim did this to him. Kirk put him in medbay and now he's come to finish the job.

"It's not real," whispers Leonard closing his eyes tightly against the bright white of his room. "Spock did this. It isn't real." It becomes his mantra, tumbling off his lips until the pain in his abdomen subsides and all he can feel is the tender new flesh M'Benga created under the bandages Leonard tore off.

Leonard buries his face in his pillow until Jim runs out of things to break in the other room.

* * *

Jim can hear Uhura calling out his name but he can't stop. His feet carry him faster and faster until he's running down the corridor. He barely makes it into the bathroom before crashing to his knees in front of the toilet and puking.

He can't stop retching. His body needs to dispel the guilt, horror and shame over what he's just witnessed. He should have gotten to McCoy faster, noticed sooner. McCoy should never have been in a situation where he felt saying goodbye was his only recourse. Lying on the cold hard floor of the medical center bathroom, he toys with the idea of going back to the mirror universe, because whatever Kirk does to Spock- it isn't going to be enough.

A tremor runs through him as he finally stops retching enough that he can crawl into the corner. He pulls his legs tight to his chest and lets the cold from the bathroom tiles leech into his skin. He can hear the faucet turn on, then off and Uhura's heels click across the room until she's standing in front of him with a damp towel in her hand. He must make one pathetic sight because she looks sad rather than angry at him. The fact that she even wants to help him at all after what he did is miracle enough.

Uhura sits down next to Jim, close enough that their shoulders press together and hands him the towel to wipe his face and clean up a little. The situation is a mess. They haven't been this much of a wreck since Jim died in the Enterprise warp core. This time around they have Jim but it's Leonard they're waiting with bated breath to see if he'll make it. Uhura suddenly feels very small as she realizes just how much they all depended on McCoy telling them he could bring Kirk back even when the false certainty didn't quite reach his eyes. She's not sure she has the skill to keep everyone from falling over the raggedy edge but she'll try for Leonard's sake. She takes Jim's hand, mindful of the abraded and bleeding knuckles and gives it a reassuring squeeze.

"How's Spock," says Jim, soft and quiet and full of regret. Hitting the wrong Spock won't solve anything and a captain shouldn't go around beating his well meaning crew. It was a thoughtless despicable act, one he should crawl across broken glass to give an apology for. Unfortunately, Jim's never really spared a moment to think through his actions when in a destructive mood, and he's not going to insult his friends by promising to it won't happen again when it's written in his DNA. He's met the Jim Kirk that doesn't think about anyone but himself and vows to at least direct his stupidity away from those he cares about.

"He'll be fine." After the initial shock and mildly stunned look on Spock's face at being punched settled, the damage was erased by the capable hands of the medical team. Uhura's seen Spock take far worse abuse by people that actually intend to do the Vulcan harm and brush it off as nothing. While Spock may not understand the emotion behind Jim's misplaced rage, she knows he understands Jim doesn't mean it. "If anyone can come up with some explanation in human behaviour for it and forget it, it will be Spock," she offers, after all, Spock smacked Kirk around before and Jim forgave him for being caught up in the heat of the moment. They're friends and she's sure they'll weather this slip.

"I still shouldn't have hit him," he says sullenly. McCoy's in bad shape, he can't afford to alienate the few friends he has left with his stupidity. "This whole thing is a mess."

Uhura lets out a long breath. "It is." They sit in silence, long past the point where the cold hard floor becomes unbearable. She wracks her brain to try and come up with something profound and inspirational to say but draws a blank. Instead she goes with the only thing that remotely sounds like advice Leonard might give, "It's getting late. We should go and try to get some sleep so we can be here for Leonard tomorrow."

Jim keeps his gaze fixed on the floor. "I still have to contact Joanna. Let her know why her dad hasn't talked to her in awhile."

"I can do it if you like." She can't imagine what she could possibly say to Leonard's daughter that would mitigate the terrible news or make it any easier for her to swallow coming from someone she doesn't know, unlike Jim, but Nyota will try her hand at it, if it will help.

"No," sighs Jim, resigned to his fate. "Technically I have to talk to Jocelyn first."

"Leonard's ex-wife?" Uhura's only heard of her in passing, Leonard being surprisingly tight lipped about the details of his divorce, other than it had been nasty enough to make Starfleet his only option. It wasn't until after they started serving together onboard the Enterprise that he even mentioned to her he had a daughter whom his ex took delight in keeping from him.

"Yeah. And if I don't do this right, she'll use it as an excuse to keep Joanna away from him. It's taken years for Bones to get her to back off enough that he can have comm. access to Joanna whenever he can. She's just looking for a reason to cut him off." It feels weird to talk about McCoy's personal drama with someone else. It's a can of worms Leonard has worked extremely hard to get a lid on, only opening up to Jim for the first time in their third year at the academy after he spent the weekend in a bottle because Jocelyn decided not to bring Joanna to San Francisco to see Leonard for the first time since their divorce. Being heroes of the Federation after Nero wasn't something Jocelyn could dispute at their next custody hearing, loosening the restriction on their daughter.

Jim gets to his feet before turning to help Uhura to hers. Today has worn them all out and they won't be any good to Leonard if they're falling apart. Uhura's suggestion might be the best thing for all of them right now. Maybe tomorrow will be better. "Tell Spock that I really am sorry," he says sincerely before leaving Uhura in the hall. He'll get a final update from M'Benga for the night, then tangle with the sanctimonious, fire breathing dragon that Leonard calls an ex-wife.

* * *

Morning comes far too early. Jim swears his head just hit the pillow and now he's being spurred into action by his morning wakeup call. Draining a pot of coffee he fumbles to find his routine in a room he hasn't lived in, in over a week. He compiles a to do list which consists mostly of finding other people to do the things he needs done if he's going to remain at McCoy's side. And he's going to remain at Leonard's side even if it's not for the altruistic reason of reassuring his friend that his nightmare is indeed over. Jim isn't too selfish not to note he's hanging around for his own reassurance and perhaps a touch of guilt.

He's still rubbing the last remnants of sleep out of his eyes as M'Benga scrutinizes him with weary skepticism before giving Kirk the nightly report. His crew seems oddly concerned with his wellbeing when there are far more pressing concerns and people to be fussing over.

"He's asleep still, and we had no incidents through the night," confirms M'Benga. There's relief radiating out of every pore that he finally has something good to report.

"That's good," agrees Jim. No news is good news and at this point nothing new to report is the best kind of news. He stares at McCoy through the observation window in the door. If it wasn't for the tight grip the doctor has on the blankets with his good hand, Jim would think he almost looked peaceful. The blood, cuts and bruises are a distant memory, erased by the precision tools M'Benga wields. The lack of visible injury minus the thick bandages on McCoy's left hand mocks Jim. The physical damage and horror can be so easily wiped away and forgotten, like it never happened nor matters. For the whole world, his friend looks shiny and new yet he knows the outside doesn't reflect the inside. Medical doesn't have a tool that can erase the broken pleas and pained whimpers of Leonard's first few days home.

"Dr Tri'youl is one of the best orthopaedic surgeons in the fleet and she's made arrangements to be here tomorrow so we can schedule Leonard for surgery the day after. It's the best chance he has for regaining full dexterity in his hand."

"That's great." Jim shouldn't be surprised McCoy's colleges have arranged for the best surgeons to help and he's extremely grateful for their devotion to their boss. He licks his lips; maybe if he moistens them enough the question he's afraid to ask will slip out easier. It doesn't stall for near enough time. "What are the odds?'

M'Benga shifts his weight from foot to foot. "She's one of the best," he assures.

 _One of the best_. The best is lying in that bed and even under ideal circumstances, which these are not, he couldn't operate on his own hand. "The odds?"

"Until Tri'youl can take an in-depth look, I would place the odds at fifty-fifty for a one hundred percent recovery."

Jim presses his lips tightly together. It keeps the unpleasantness from tumbling out of his mouth and is a dramatic improvement over his outburst yesterday yet his small victory ever his temper doesn't dampen his desire to put his fist through the window right now.

"These people were very skilled in what they did. If Leonard did anything else we'd be able to guarantee his recovery to a level that his hand wouldn't be an issue except for something as delicate and precise as surgery."

"Yeah," huffs Jim, pushing open the door and taking his seat at McCoy's beside. It's the first time he's ever resented his crew for being the best in all universes.

* * *

Jim loses track of time. His attention is divided between keeping one eye on his work PADD and the other on Leonard. He doesn't feel like he accomplishes much. He's been trying to write the same line of his report for at least an hour and can't seem to string together any words that resemble a sentence. He does manage to smooth out the pained and pinched lines that appear on Leonard's face with a litany of whispered apologies and reassurances.

Leonard finally shows signs of stirring beyond the last remnants of a bad dream and Jim dumps his PADDs haphazardly on the side table. His muscles pull and protest the change from his cramped position as he grabs a hold of McCoy's hand.

It's the contact, warm, firm and solid against his palm in a reassuring way, rather than painful vice grip of human cruelty against his skin that brings Leonard out of the blissful arms of unconsciousness and crashing back into reality. He lies there still, like death, waiting for some conformation of which side of purgatory he's fallen.

"Come on, Bones. I'm so sorry. We need you here with us. _I_ need you here with me," floats softly into Leonard's ear. He knows that voice; he's clung to it before when the world was going to hell and he needed someone to save him.

McCoy opens his eyes slowly, desperate to cling to the last tatters of sleep which is the only source of protection he has from the monsters that have invaded his life. A smile brushes his lips as he looks up a Jim who looks worn thin around the edges. Safety laps at his soul like gentle waves against a quiet, secluded beach oasis. Jim has an unnatural ability to stir feelings of calm, trust and annoyance and exasperation and Leonard's willing to bask in all of it but it takes his traitorous brain all of a minute to expel those feelings and replace them with unbridled fear, terror and the stark realization that it was those who were closest to him that delighted in his pain and anguish.

"You're home," insists Jim, seeing the look of animalistic fear loom at the edge of the doctor's eyes.

Leonard looks at Jim, really looks at him for any tell tale sign he's looking at the legendary animal that's slaughtered his way through a universe. He'd swear it was his Jim he's looking at but there's no way to be sure. Pretending to be McCoy's friend and captain only to reveal the truth once he's lulled into a false sense of security isn't above these people.

"I swear to you, Bones, I got you home," promises Jim, looking so broken he might slit his own throat if he thought it would convince Leonard.

"Sure, Jim," croaks McCoy, yanking his hand from Kirk's grip.

"M'Benga says the best orthopaedic surgeons in the fleet will be here tomorrow and can begin to fix your hand the day after that," says Jim with false jubilation that fails to reach his eyes or the concern that shadows his smile.

"Can hardly wait," mumbles McCoy, rolling his head away from Jim and bringing his bandaged and useless hand into focus. He doesn't listen to Kirk spew well meaning optimism at him; he knows the statistics and options better than Kirk ever could. Even if he did manage to end up back in his universe, which is a pretty big if considering the sadistic fucks he's dealing with, his old life is almost certainly out of reach. Coming back whole seems to have been too much to hope for.

He hasn't been following Jim's one-sided conversation so now's a good a time as any to ask the question burning just beneath his skin. "Where's Spock?"

The question throws Jim, rendering him silent as he contemplates just what Leonard really wants to know. Telling him evil Spock is still out there but evil Kirk is going hunt him down and remedy that situation doesn't seem like it will be as reassuring as Jim would like it to be. Truth is, he'd feel safer if he had evil Spock's heart in his hand so maybe there isn't such a thing as evil Kirk after all, just various shades of Jim. "He's in his office at Yorktown fleet headquarters," he says, opting for removing their counter parts from their daily conversations.

"Good."


	6. Chapter 6

Leonard's not sure when having a meltdown became a way of life but it's snuck up and become the new normal. That thought alone is depressing and draining in a way he's never known before. This isn't what he fought so hard to get back to.

His panic attacks all follow the same pattern. He sees someone, and before he can make his brain realize it's not some alternate version (or maybe it is; who knows anymore), something is trying to claw its way out his chest and he can't catch his breath. His mind tumbles through and endless analysis of everything, searching for clues as to which universe he's in. The thoughts and doubts are dizzying, like water spinning down the drain, and it sucks what little energy he can conjure for the day.

It ends with Jim holding him and promising that it's alright, but McCoy doesn't know if he can believe. Jim's lied to him before; making promises he couldn't possibly keep. Jim spends so much time whispering apologises to McCoy when he thinks the doctor is too far gone to listen anyways, McCoy's beginning to wonder if he must really be guilty of something.

The crew means well; dropping in to wish him well and check on his well being. If Leonard had the energy to care, he would be honestly touched, but the weight of everything is already crushing and their well meaning intentions are doing more harm than good. It doesn't help that Leonard can't be bothered to talk to any of them. Conversation feels hollow and forced as visitors carefully dance around the question they're dying to ask: what was it like to be brutally tortured by someone wearing the face of those you trust?

Spock and Sulu are automatic tickets to the shit show. Luckily it only took one visit apiece for both to decide to make themselves scarce. Chekov is hit and miss. More often than not, the only response the kid stirs within McCoy is a deep need to apologise. He tried once, but the babbled sorrys just confused the young ensign enough that he keeps his distance and only drops by for a moment if he knows someone else is stopping by to check on the doctor. Safety in numbers, like Leonard will try harder to keep his crazy under wraps if he has more of an audience. Little do they know that the insanity is bubbling and festering beneath his skin and when it explodes, it won't care who or how many people are in the room. There's a part of him that appreciates them trying, unfortunately it isn't the part that wins out most days.

Scotty and Uhura are pretty safe, though he doesn't see that much of them. Leonard didn't see their counterparts at in the alternate universe at all really, so there isn't any deep seeded reaction hiding beneath the skin. Scotty drops by every couple of days after shift but is often too busy to constantly hold McCoy's hand. The engineer mostly talks with Jim since Leonard has nothing to offer conversationally beyond a bitter _fine_ when asked how he's doing today.

Nyota is actually a soothing companion. Not only can she say things in dozen of languages, she can also understand the syntax of silence. She's the only one that seems to be able to engage in Leonard's silent conversations without judgement and expectation. Leonard isn't such a bastard that he'd ask Uhura to ditch her boyfriend to play emotional support blanket for him, so she's only made a few appearances that Leonard's been aware of. The crew is busy and sitting in a hospital room while Leonard vacillates between wanting company to break up the isolation and accusing them all of trying to kill him is awkward for everyone.

That leaves Jim, who's constant presence feels like he's suffocating Leonard. Maybe that's his nefarious plan? Leonard straddles the edge of white knuckling his presence and being grateful for it. The only thing worse than being in the company of a monster, is being trapped alone with his own personal demons. Jim's the only tether he has to some form of reality, be it this universe or another, but there's something deep within McCoy that wants to scratch Kirk's eyes out.

Kirk comes and sits with him every day. It makes it hard to ignore the world. Jim's too stubborn to let him wallow in his own misery the way his medical team will when he finds the strength to bite their heads off. Jim just takes McCoy's shit and misplaced aggression like a well worn punching bag.

"Don't you have some captain shit to do somewhere?" snaps McCoy, his irritation making his skin itch and feel too tight. He doesn't need someone hovering over him twenty-four seven. It makes it hard to forget. It also saddles Leonard with a healthy dose of guilt that Jim's putting his life on hold because Leonard's too weak to get his shit together in a reasonable manner.

"No," says Jim, broken and hallow, raising his head to look at the doctor. There are lots of things he could be doing, probably should be doing but sitting here with McCoy is the most important. Despite what a lot of Starfleet top brass thinks, Jim can learn from his mistakes. He put everything else above his friends before, all in the name of getting the Enterprise back on her feet, and he isn't in any rush to let that happen again.

"Pretty sure you got a ship to rebuild. You leave Scotty alone with it, that's tandem to letting the lunatics run the asylum."

Kirk rubs at his face. He's exhausted and completely drained, yet hasn't done anything much beyond breaking in the chair by McCoy's bedside. It's surprisingly easy to run things from his self appointed spot with his crew stepping up and going above and beyond to make sure the captain is free to ensure nothing else befalls the ship's doctor. "It's nothing that can't wait, Bones."

"Now it can wait," grumbles McCoy. It's an unkind thought, one that burns as it settles in his gut. It couldn't wait before when he wanted some attention, but now that he wants to be left alone, Leonard can't seem to shake Kirk.

Jim doesn't say anything, just sits there looking like a kicked puppy. Leonard sighs. "Guilt don't look good on ya kid." It makes Jim look young and vulnerable and almost human. Leonard needs his monsters to be complete evil; it's too easy to get lost in shades of grey. Plus if this isn't actually his Jim, then giving Kirk a soul will just hurt McCoy more when he eventually gets around to finishing what Spock started.

Jim wants to counter with being beaten and tortured within a millimeter of his life, doesn't look good on McCoy either, but he holds his tongue. Most of the things he says these days seems to irritate McCoy. It's a thin line to walk and Jim's doing a piss poor job of navigating it; too much pressure on the string could cause it to snap completely.

"We can't stay in Yorktown forever," retorts the doctor. It's like an itch and now that he's started to scratch he can't stop poking at Kirk.

"We can stay as long as it takes." They both know that _it,_ in this case, isn't the Enterprise, but rather Leonard. Jim's offering to stay for Leonard's benefit, which on the surface seems like a genuine life line from a friend, but it's just too much pressure on Leonard. They both know where Jim's meant to be and it isn't coddling this country doctor. There's a part of Leonard that wants to punish them all and make everyone feel like their lives are a shadow of their former glory by demanding to stay and keep the crew at Yorktown as long as possible but he isn't sure _he_ can stomach staying.

"I don't want to stay." He doesn't know if he'll be able to be on the Enterprise either, but at least gallivanting around the cosmos means he isn't in one spot; the one spot where Spock can just waltzed in and kidnapped him. It has to be harder to abduct someone if they're on the move, right? Space brings its own kind of death but it _has_ to be better than being here. Anything has to be better than this purgatory.

"Okay, Bones," sighs Jim and it's laced with a silent plea to bear with him while he tries and make that happen. If McCoy wants back on the ship, then Jim will get Scotty to step up the rebuild. They'll all probably feel better when this whole thing is behind them.

Jim's been apologising a lot and McCoy can think of a thousand and one injuries he's endured that all cry out that Jim's the perpetrator. This darkened hole Leonard's trapped in is the result of Jim wanting the Enterprise. That smug smile he flashes every time Leonard looks at him, the one that shows off his perfect white teeth and boyish charm is just window dressing to the darkness waiting to escape Kirk. McCoy read the file. He knows what depravity is woven in Kirk's bones.

"Kill anyone today, Jim?" asks Leonard just to see if he can kill a little of that light that lurks around the edges of Jim's eyes. He spent days in a universe of murderers that all seem to take joy in the act; billions of people can't be wrong, so maybe Leonard should see what all the fuss is about. Besides, there's the possibility the question will catch Kirk off guard and a moment of honesty could crack that carefully sculpted mask he adorns.

Jim would describe himself as a pretty carefree, fun loving personality that can let most things roll right off of him, not that he doesn't take his responsibilities as captain seriously. He's always been able to sniff out a good time and good relations with the locals. Lately though, he finds smiling hurts his face. He can't even remember what it feels like to genuinely want to smile, despite the fact that one is permanently glued to his face the moment he steps foot in medical. There can only be one rain cloud in the room and Leonard's called dibs all over it. It's exhausting and seems to make him a bigger target for Leonard to kick, but he can't complain. Letting the strain show isn't going to do his friend any favors; that's what late nights in his apartment with case of beer are for.

As much as Leonard's question hurts like a knife through the heart, he can't let it show. There's no use picking a fight with someone who doesn't even mean what they're saying. "Wasn't planning on it, Bones," offers Jim, as smooth and level as he can keep his voice.

Leonard scoffs and rolls his eyes. Another day trapped with Jim while they both pretend to be something they're not. He's been itching to escape for days now but even if McCoy could make a run for it, he hasn't the foggiest idea where he'd go. The Enterprise was destroyed and Earth hasn't felt like home since his divorce. His temporarily assigned apartment at Yorktown has been violated in the worst way, that he can't imagine going back there and that leaves him with nowhere to go. Jocelyn took the planet in the divorce and now Spock's taken the universe.

With nowhere to go he has nothing to lose, so bating a psychopath doesn't seem all that destructive anymore. Worst case, he pushes his Jim away which would just be better for the kid in the long run; best case, he gets Kirk to finish what Spock wasn't dastardly enough to finish. They both know Jim's waiting for something Leonard knows isn't going to happen. There are no happy endings here so it's better to be cruel to be kind now, rather than drag this out for the long haul. "Just the usual terror and torture then, huh?"

Jim closes his eyes and counts backwards from ten. "That's not fair, Bones. I'm not him."

"Life ain't fair Jim. You'd think you'd figure that out by now." It's been drummed into Leonard's head pretty good now; his recent brush with unfairness leaving footnotes from the essay of cruelty carved into his bones.

This line of conversation is just a rocky path towards a dead end that exposes too many of Jim's own ghosts, never mind what's haunting the doctor. The last few days have been rough and it looks like today doesn't want to shape up any different. Jim wracks his brain for a safe topic to steer them towards, a task that seems simpler in intention than actuality. He settles for something that's sure to warm Leonard's heart. "I talked to Joanna."

The change in McCoy is instantaneous, like Jim threw a bucket of ice cold water on him. His passive indifference to Kirk's presence is replaced with wild animalistic desperation and viciousness.

_"Jo will be fine. I promise. I'll gut anyone that dares to speak her name let alone lay a finger on her."_

"You promised you wouldn't do that, that you'd take care of her!" All Leonard can hear is the pounding of his heart as it thunder in his ears. Kirk gave his word and like everything else in this universe it's a mirage of virtue. Apparently protecting Jo from anyone, doesn't include Jim himself; fine print in the contract of his promise.

It doesn't matter the universe, that's his little girl and he'll drag his broken body across shattered dilithium crystals to keep the likes of Kirk from harming a hair on her perfect head. Kirk's got him pinned to the bed before he can muster any kind of assault of his own, as pitiful an attempt as it would be in his condition. Despite his determination, he's just not strong enough yet to shake off Kirk, leaving only one avenue. "Please don't hurt her," he begs, hot tears rolling down his cheeks. "I'll do anything you want, be anyone you want, just don't hurt Jo." If Kirk wants to pretend Leonard is his Bones than he'll do his damnedest to be that blood thirsty killer if it means his daughter is safe from harm.

Jim backs away like he's been burned. It's a hell of a thing to be accused of; that he would intentionally hurt a kid, let alone his best friend's daughter. "I would never," stammers Jim, because that's the god's honest truth. He thought he knew what a fucked up world McCoy has been sucked into, but listening to McCoy offer his soul up, to willingly become one of those butchers just to protect Jo from him, breaks the captain.

Jim keeps backing up until he hits the wall, like putting physical distance between himself and Leonard's desperate pleas and biting accusations will lessen their impact. The nurses come in, hypos at the ready with sedatives; the silent alarm monitoring McCoy's vitals having alerted them to his distress. Normally, Jim would be the one trying to comfort McCoy and smooth out his troubles before resorting to chemical warfare, but this time he's the undeniable cause of them. Maybe he always has been.

Jim slips out the door, silent and unnoticed, just like the coward he always feared he was. He's stood up to drunks, dictators, Romulans, the unknown, and a warp core, and held his ground, but what's back in that room has brought Jim to the end of his rope with nothing to hold on to. He can't shoot or punch his way out of this. The only weapon in his arsenal that's possibly any good is his stubbornness, and it's quite possible McCoy can out stubborn him.

He beats a hasty "tactical" retreat, or so he tells himself. Anything sounds better than running away. He's tried that maneuver before in his life too, and it usually ends with Jim unconscious on a bar room floor.

God he really needs Pike to pick him up off the ground right now and tell him it's going to be alright. He needs to get solid ground under him once more and alleviate the fear that he'll spend the rest of his life trying to convince McCoy that he's not the monster. The only other people than Pike who have ever saved Jim from drowning in the black of the universe are Spock and McCoy. McCoy's broken and he certainly doesn't need a Vulcan lecture right now. He could go for commiserating with his old pal Johnny Walker; he always has a bottle for emergencies and this is a total break glass in case of emergency situation. His CMO would frown on rigorous day drinking, but screw it. The man's otherwise occupied with his own demons and day is just an artificial construct on a space station anyways.

* * *

Uhura leans against the wall and waits for the apprehension crawling over her skin like a million hungry ants to die down. Her feet want to carry her down the corridor, out the door and back to the world. There is still time to act on her fear and cowardice; the nurse is still with McCoy and he hasn't seen her lurking in the hall yet. She could still slip away unseen without anyone the wiser.

She grits her teeth and holds her ground. It's only lunch with a friend. A simple act that she's performed a million times before. She even has the safety net of only having a designated amount of time before she has to return to shift; an excuse to flee if it becomes too much. It isn't like they've never shared a meal before or that she hasn't visited someone in medbay, but it breaks her heart to see Leonard in such a state. He's the one that puts them back together, makes _them_ whole. What if they aren't up to the task of returning the favor?

They certainly dropped the ball the last few months and shamefully none of them had even been aware he'd been missing for five days. She shudders to think what might have happened if that discipline report hadn't caught Kirk's eye. Uhura shakes her head to try and dispel the image of McCoy pale and bleeding out in a world where those he trusts lived to abuse that trust. She had been selfish before, brushing off their lunch dates in favor or things that weren't even important enough that she can recall them now. Now she will prioritise better.

Nurse Chapel smiles as she steps out of McCoy's room. "You can go in now if you like but I have to warn you, he's a little grumpy today."

Uhura smiles back. "I'll keep that in mind."

Chapel looks back at the door with an air of melancholy and a hesitancy to leave. McCoy's more than just a boss, he's a calm steady presence in an emergency that reassures them they can weather any storm. Even when he is flappable and cantankerous there's an underlying feeling of protectiveness that's hard to ignore. The doctor refuses to lie down and die for any of his patients which makes seeing him so resigned and subjugated by the terror of his experience so heartbreaking. They're all prepared to fight for him just as hard as he's ever fought for any of them but she fears the battle is all but lost if Leonard has already raised the white flag.

Nyota can't see McCoy from her angle at the door but she can see the empty chair at his bedside. "Where's Captain Kirk?" The captain his been a permanent fixture in medbay since they got McCoy back so his sudden absence fills Uhura with dread.

Chapel purses her lips together and breaks eye contact with the Lieutenant. "He left," she says regretfully. "Doctor McCoy had become quite agitated earlier and when we stepped in, the Captain stepped out."

"When did he say he'd be back?"

"He didn't. We didn't even realize he had left until we calmed Doctor McCoy down and Captain Kirk was no longer in the room. He hasn't been on the floor since nor has he called for an update." There's no condemnation or worry over the captain's exit in her eyes, only sorrow.

"Alright," says Nyota. She forces her professional smile on her face. It's a game they all seem to play; fake cheery sentiment to hide the raggedy holes in themselves, everyone pretending to be alright until they can hide away in their own rooms and give into the despair and anguish at what has been done to their friend. Even worse than that, is the moment of relief, that by the grace of divine mercy, what could have so easily been anyone of them, was not. They're all broken porcelain figures, carefully glued back together yet one bump away from falling into a million sharp jagged pieces.

A journey of a thousand miles starting with one step, Uhura takes hers by walking into Leonard's room.

McCoy's head lulls away from the window with as much effort and enthusiasm as he's put into anything else lately. It's not Kirk, returned to pester him with good intentions or perhaps lull him into a false sense of security. It's not even a member of the medical staff, that he's admittedly making their jobs more difficult. If he could feel remorse, he's feel it for them, but all he has is terror or numbness these days. "What are you doing here?" he snaps, because he has no energy for games or the bullshit his head creates.

"It's Thursday," says Uhura sweetly. "We have lunch on Thursdays."

* * *

Spock presses the doorbell on the control pad and waits for his captain's summons. He doesn't have to wait long for a brittle, "come," echoes through the door. The door slides open and Spock hesitates for a moment before stepping inside. The apartment is dark, covered in shadows from the simulated dusk that heralds Yorktown night.

Jim's sitting on the floor in front of his couch, knees pulled tight to his chest and a bottle clutched tightly in his hand. He's long past the formalities of glassware or pretending that he's on the floor by intention. He rubs at his eyes, hoping to remove all traces of the pity party he'd been throwing but while the tears will wipe away, only a good night sleep will remove the red puffiness of crying.

"You don't got a beard," slurs Kirk as he looks the intruder of his solitude up and down. There's a flicker of disappointment that it's not Spock from the other universe come back to finish him off. It would be fitting after all; Jim is the architect of all their problems. All the chess pieces either fall for him or to get to him. McCoy gave him friendship when he desperately needed a good friend and Jim made him a target.

"Indeed. Lights to forty-five percent," commands Spock before moving over to help Jim off the floor and onto the couch. While he doesn't understand this human need for self punishment as a means to put off problems, he's unsurprised to find Kirk in what is clearly an inebriated state. Nyota's recounting of the afternoon suggested as much.

Jim's loath to release the bottle, but allows it to slip from his fingers at Spock's behest. He fights the urge to squirm and fidget at the thought of an impending reprimand while Spock's in the kitchen exchanging the bottle for coffee. A warm cup is pressed firmly into his hands, the warmth chasing away some of the discomfort. He doesn't deserve to be taken care of right now, least of all by Spock. "Sorry about... your face." It isn't a graceful apology or even adequate, but it's a start. Just another mistake he'll spend the rest of his life trying to make up for because like McCoy, Spock deserves no less.

"The circumstances were understandable, therefore there is no need to apologise. You are, however, forgiven. I believe that is the proper response in this human custom?"

A small smile curves Jim's lips. "Yeah, that's how it goes, Spock," he says wistfully, as though things could be that simple. A thick weighted silence settles over them, neither with the answers to make things as they were. They sit together on the couch forcing time to slow down and stand still while they take a moment's respite. "I don't think I can go back in there, Spock," confesses Jim, so quietly Spock's Vulcan hearing almost misses it.

Spock sits there pensively. The situation is wrought with messy and unpredictable emotions he has spent his whole life trying to repress and yet seeing the fear in McCoy's eyes when he stepped into the room and know some incarnation of him is responsible for it, has left him haunted. He has no easy solutions for this problem no matter how many times he runs the equation. "I believe you will find the strength. It is our duty to be there for the doctor."

"That's easy to say when he won't let you in the room. Bones never gives up on me and all I want to do today is run. How fucked up is that? The guy brings me back from the dead and I'm having a hard time dealing with what surviving that hell has done to him."

"It' is not easy to see doctor McCoy in a state. I too, am finding it difficult to come to terms with my counterpart's actions in this circumstance." There are images and emotions tumbling around in Spock's mind that are not his own, yet troubling beyond the fact that they are not his. He's been struggling to make sense of them since he accidently touched Leonard. Meditation hasn't even allowed him to crack the code yet.

Jim aches at just how deep this wound is for them. He's not so self-absorbed that he hasn't noticed the rest of the crew struggling but to hear Spock admit it, really brings home the intensity of the ripples from this wave. The alcohol, despite its mass consumption, isn't doing its job to numb Jim. If anything, he feels everything more. "So what are we going to do?"

"The same as we always do; handle the problem one at a time. Tomorrow we make sure Doctor McCoy receives the surgery on his hand."

* * *

Jim has very little idea what they're talking about. They could be using all their fancy medical terms to discuss putting a centurion fire fish's head on a sparrow for all he knows. He lost the particulars of the conversation early on, but the important part is that they're going to try and fix Leonard's hand; that much he can follow. He forces himself to pay attention anyways because one of them should and Leonard is giving all the signals that he's not really listening all that intently. What matters is M'Benga understands and probably Leonard when he is paying attention and more importantly Dr Tri'youl can put what she's talking about into action. All Jim needs is the end result. Fixing McCoy's hand might be the first step to making Leonard whole.

He'll go with M'Benga's recommendation and possibly McCoy's objection if there is one. The decision is Leonard's but ultimately Jim has the final say as Leonard's medical proxy since there's ample proof that McCoy might not be of sound mind given the circumstances, should Leonard make a decision that's not in his best interest. Jim desperately hopes McCoy makes the _right decision_ so Jim doesn't have to overrule him, which promises to be all kind of messy should it happen. Mostly he just hopes no one frames this procedure in the form of a question so there is no decision to make.

"You'll be able to watch the whole thing as we go, as I'm sure you'll be curious enough to have me walk you through it as we..."

"No," says McCoy, eyes fixated on the scuff mark on the wall he's been staring at since Dr Tri'youl walked into the room. Her overly sunny disposition rubbed him the wrong way from the get go and her constantly poking and prodding his damaged hand just makes him feel like a choice cut of meat ready to be consumed.

"No, what?" she asks, taken aback. It's the first actual word he's said all day instead of the non committal grunts he's blessed them with so far.

"No I don't want to be awake for it," says with biting authority.

"It's not something we need to put the patient under for. In fact, it would go a lot smoother if you were awake."

"God damn it, I said no!" Leonard punctuates his point by pushing his untouched breakfast tray off his table. The contents go crashing to the floor. He had an up close view the first time his hand was smashed and sliced into, he doesn't need to see it again, ever. His stomach rolls at the prospect of seeing blood and bone and muscle so close to a scalpel.

"Bones," huffs Jim, like he's scolding a child as he bends over to pick up as much of McCoy's mess as possible.

"But," starts Dr Tri'youl, recovering from the shock of Leonard's outburst.

McCoy just crosses his arms across his chest and sulks like the child Jim scolded.

"He clearly doesn't want to be awake for it," says Jim, making eye contact with Leonard as he puts the tray back on the table. Apparently the Winona Kirk look of exasperated disappointment is genetic, because Jim's face makes it of its own volition. If eight year old Jim could see himself now, he'd die of disbelief that that look could ever form on his face. Jim's supposed to be the petulant child not Leonard. Jim's too far out of his depth here, and there doesn't seem to be a lifeguard on duty.

"But..."

"Is it strictly necessary? I mean, can you do it with him out?" asks Jim, because this isn't a battle he wants to fight McCoy on; especially when he can see where Leonard's hang-ups might be on the subject.

"I suppose we could, " starts Dr Dr Tri'youl.

"We can," assures Dr M'Benga, jumping in hopes of defuse things slightly.

"Great!" says Jim, forcing an overly cheerful smile on his face. "Now when all's said and done, what are we looking at in terms of recovery?"

"There will be physical therapy after everything is healed. We can manage that with our medical staff. Probably three months after we start, Leonard will be able to do most things with his left hand. Five months for finer, more delicate things," reports M'Benga. While he would never rush a patient's recovery, and he won't push Leonard's, there's the underlying question that lingers in regards to what happens when the Enterprise is rebuilt and ready to continue her mission. If there's something McCoy requires that Enterprise cannot provide or any chance that Leonard cannot serve then his place in the crew compliment will be in jeopardy. Given the nature of their mission, it won't be a matter of coming back for the doctor when he is ready. A game plan needs to be in place before the ship is ready to depart, whatever that may be.

"Surgery?" asks Jim hopefully. It is the elephant in the room, the million credit question and the catalyst for this specialized surgery. Leonard could absolutely live a normal life with his hand as it is now but if he wants to continue to be in Starfleet and more importantly practice medicine in the capacity he did before being kidnapped than they need to restore his hand to one hundred percent.

M'Benga looks away.

"Actually," Dr Tri'youl jumps in, "I've been doing some things with Deltarian eel enzymes that look promising. Now keep in mind it's still experimental, but with your permission Leonard, I'd like to try it. I think it can get us close to ninety-five percent of your normal dexterity. The process will be longer but I think it's the best chance."

"That sounds promising," Jim says. "What do you think Bones?"

What does Leonard think? Everyone is so busy talking about him like he's not in the room, he's gotten a pretty good picture of what his future will look like. He's been cut apart for other people's pleasure, revenge and now experiment and he's endured it all because other people want or need it. Mostly he's tired of being a mere play thing for people. "Do whatever you want. Everyone else has already."

"Leonard, this surgery is promising but it you have an objection to it we can postpone it," tries M'Benga. "I do highly recommend you go through with it though, both as your physician and your friend."

McCoy's tempted to flip them off, with his bad hand, just for added spite but it's still pretty bandaged to be really effective at getting his point across and oh yeah, the fact that Sulu took great pleasure in breaking his middle finger repeatedly for kicks that it's probably in worse shape than the finger he actually tried to cut off. He settles for rolling his eyes and glaring instead.

He's depressed, with serious notes of PSTD and has a decent chance at being declared insane but he's not stupid. There's no way he can legal ability to _officially_ make decisions right now so that falls into Kirk's purview as his medical proxy. At best, Leonard could kick up a fuss so bad a lawyer is brought in to remove that power from Kirk but someone else would have to be appointed. His only blood is his daughter, who is too young for the task and his mother, who is too old to have that kind of stress put on her. That means possibly a lawyer who will go with these people's recommendation anyways or god help him his ex-wife could receive the task based on the fact that she was his previous medical proxy. Leonard will probably end up an organ donor before he's actually dead if Jocelyn gets her claws on him right now.

Leonard chokes down a laugh as it occurs to him that Kirk and Jocelyn would be perfect for one another. Both were close to him, people he would die for, and both would gladly hold his still beating heart in their hands. Or even Jocelyn and Spock. Those two both frustrate him on a level no one else has and seem to take diverse pleasure in his pain and suffering. It's a match made in heaven and Leonard can be the wedding feast.

Everyone gives Leonard a questioning look, but he can't be bothered to share the joke or try and explain the dark turn his humor has taken of late. "So we're going to do this?" asks Jim.

Leonard plasters on a fake smile for everyone. It's a broken thing, reminiscent of an evil clown on a murder spree. "Whatever you think is best, Jim."

"We can get started now," offers M'Benga leading the charge out of the room to begin prep.

There's an energy in the room that wasn't there before. All the vultures that have been circling Leonard have been satisfied by his acquiescence. They all leave the room taking their clouds of positivity with them. A nurse comes in to start the prep work of removing the bandages from McCoy's hand and getting him ready for surgery.

Leonard tries to push down the sick feeling slithering and turning in his gut like a snake. He doesn't even have good memories of sickbay anymore, a place that was practically his home on Enterprise. His last brushes with sickbay are haunting. It's here that he was forced to standby helplessly and watch Ensign Marley die of a completely treatable allergic reaction and Lieutenant Kyle receive a phaser blast to the chest instead of treatment. It's here that Spock had Nurse Chapel insert his agonizer.

Pain flares in his chest under the bright new pink skin above where his agonizer was. He clenches his eyes tightly closed and wills it to pass. M'Benga insists he removed the device but honestly, Leonard has no proof of that and it feels like it's still there. He's going to end up in an operating room at the mercy of who knows and there's nothing he can do to stop it; he's out of fight. He's a lamb to the slaughter.

"It's not going to work you know," says Jim coming back into the room.

Leonard's prepared to ask what, but Jim continues as he moves to stand behind the nurse still focused on McCoy's hand. "They can pull out whatever crazy experimental thing they want but we both know you'll never be qualified to perform surgery again."

Leonard does know it, but to hear it out loud stings. There's nothing to hide behind after the surgery; they'll have their answer and the stark reality will be he has no value as the CMO of a starship. The best he can hope for is medical research or teaching at the academy and even that's dependant on his psych evaluations.

"What does a washed up, mentally unbalanced doctor do when they get drummed out of Starfleet?" asks Jim with an all too familiar smug and sarcastic edge. "Does he go back home to Earth and play daddy to a kid he never sees? Will you go crawling back to Jocelyn and beg for any scraps of Joanna she might be willing to part with?"

Each question feels like another blow far more painful than a knife to the chest. The nurse is oblivious to Leonard's discomfort but Jim is not. He's practically feeding on Leonard's deep seeded fears.

"I imagine not, she won't have you. No family, no friends and no medical career. What did you survive all that for?" poses Jim, like he can't possibly fathom the answer.

Leonard's throat goes dry. Jim's always had a way of seeing the future. It's mostly fuelled by his cockiness but Jim's been sure about things other's thought impossible. He was right about being done with Starfleet Academy in three years and about making captain long before anyone thought he'd see command of anything. Jim's most certainly right about this because even Leonard can see it.

The gentle hiss of a hypo spray reminds McCoy that the nurse is still in the room. He can feel the anesthetic start to pull him under before he even has to ask what she just injected him with. His eyelids are growing heavy and the room is starting to fade as M'Benga starts issuing order to move Leonard to surgery. As they roll through the door, Jim's magically already outside waiting for McCoy to pass like he hadn't been in the room a second before.

"I'll be right here when you get out," says Jim, radiating positivity and reassurance, as the anaesthesia takes effect.


	7. Chapter 7

There's an empty silence surrounding Leonard that's as alarming as it is comforting. It's as void as the darkness, that's wrapped its protective arms around him, shielding him from the light. He's been searching for peace and quiet ever since he got back and unable to obtain it amongst the well meaning intentions of friends, coworkers and medical staff and the unrelenting haunting nightmares. It wasn't that long ago he was desperate for the glimpse of a friendly face and now he has so much ' _quality time_ ' with everyone it's making him sick. Jocelyn always said he'd make an excellent hermit living in a cave somewhere.

There's no sound what so ever, which is strange because star bases, like starships, have a constant soothing background buzz. Furthermore, medbay has a life affirming hum that's disturbingly absent. Leonard spares a thought to entertain the idea that perhaps he's dead; the last few days nothing more than the desperate prayer of his soul to find peace in his final seconds as he bleeds out on that white pristine planet. Others see their fondest moments flash before their eyes and he gets to hallucinate misery.

His limbs feel like lead weights, tying him to this mortal coil that the alternate universe tried so very hard to rip him from. The living embodiment of a ghost, sentenced to haunt his former life for eternity. He's too detached and too tired to care it though. As long as it's quiet, and free of the struggle that has become every day, he's good with whatever.

Leonard just kind of floats there, in the nothingness, enjoying the complete lack of everything. Every worry and concern that has been plaguing him is gone, like he misplaced them. There's a flicker in the back of his mind that his current mellowness is far superior to any night spent drinking - like he was going for the record. Drugs; a point that should spur concern, but they must be doing their job because he's content to drift for as long as possible. He could live in this space forever.

Even drugged out bliss isn't enough to stop the darkness from turning on him. Spock appears in the dark, like Satan bursting through the gates of hell in all his fiery glory. Spock's nightmare personified, his hand stretching out for Leonard like a reaper reaching for the next soul to drag to hell under the cover of eternal darkness and torment.

Leonard's eyes snap open wide as the Vulcan's hand clasps firmly over his mouth, silencing any protest the doctor could launch. He tries to fight, to scream, but no sound comes out and his traitorous body refuses to move; not one single inch. He's as helpless as he's been in every engagement with Spock.

Spock's strong to begin with, but Leonard's so weak and feeble he can't even begin to hope to shake the monster off now. Fear is griping his lungs as they fight desperately to suck in air, ripping into and shredding them into useless tatters in his chest. Leonard's the terrified mouse with his tail trapped under a cat's paw- nowhere to hide and the breath of imminent death creeping down his neck. For Spock's part, he looks about as put out as when he's filing a report submitted by a subordinate and hour late and with a spelling error in the first line. Apparently, Leonard's terrified fight for survival isn't entertaining enough.

The Vulcan's long fingers twitch, spreading to cover Leonard's nose, cutting off his air supply completely. What does it say about McCoy's life that that is the second scariest thing Spock can do with his fingers pressed against his face? Tears sting his eyes in anticipation of the mental onslaught of horrors Spock is no doubt planning on sharing.

The gentle buzzing in his ears and black spots in his vision are signalling asphyxiation starting to settle in. His body is doing everything it can to try and get air but it's a futile effort. The last thing he's going to see in this world is Spock's ugly mug staring dispassionately down at him like he's some kind of bug to dispose of.

Spock leans forward and carefully whispers in Leonard's ear, "We're not done yet."

Leonard locks eyes with him as a feeling of dread far worse that of the cold hands of death pulling him under sends a cascade of sparks through his being.

Leonard bolts up, gasping and pawing at his neck. The beeping on the biobed monitor spikes as McCoy's heart pounds in his chest and his lungs feel like they'll burst as he sucks in oxygen like a starving man. His eyes dart around the room like a wild animal being chased by a vicious and unrelenting predator.

He's completely alone in his room; the soft light of evening illuminating all corners of his perfectly safe and empty room. The familiar ache that defines his life settles back into place as his chest stops heaving.

His hand is swathed in a myriad of bandages and protective casing to prevent any movement on the patient's part that could disrupt the surgeon's good work. To Leonard, it's nothing more than a shackle, constantly reminding him of his inescapable misery. The surgery is over and he's been left to sleep off the lingering remnants of the anaesthesia. He carefully probes his neck with his good hand, just to prove to himself that Spock's not really here. At least not _that_ Spock.

Despite believing it was all just another horrible nightmare, Leonard can't shake the unsettled feeling turning his gut. He lies back down to try and chase the shadow of sleep but the weight of fear is keeping him awake. He's tense, rigid and finding it impossible to relax; the childish fear that Spock will emerge out of the darkness like the boogieman is like a thousand needles poking into him, keeping him on edge in anticipation.

Jim maybe adamant that they left that monster back in another universe, but Leonard knows Spock will keep his promise. Universal boundaries didn't stop him before and there is no logic in breaking a promise.

* * *

The morning silence is claustrophobic and filled with tension. It hangs in the recycled air giving it a foul tang. This room is a far cry from those on the Enterprise with the constant and reassuring hum of the engines and the flow of medical staff. No, this quiet and secluded medroom on Yorktown feels like an oppressive jail cell and McCoy's just waiting for his execution date. His executioner promised he'd finish it, but McCoy can't see Spock showing any mercy by making it quick.

The staff that comes in to check on his vitals are friendly enough, but he doesn't know them, doesn't want to either; not while there's familiar screams and faces rattling around in his head still. It's fake cheer anyways, projected by professionals that are either too polite or entrenched in pity for him to let his bitterness and all around misery crack their facade.

None of them seem to understand he just wants to be left alone to rot in peace. They don't understand, couldn't possibly. He can't trust strangers, not when he doubts his friends and fears the soulless monsters he's seen them as aren't going to emerge here.

Physical therapy and trauma counselling are just Band-Aids to make everyone _else_ feel better about stuffing him back into a life he's not sure he fits or wants anymore. It's ironic considering how hard he fought to get back to it but wanting is always better than having. He pulls the blankets tightly over his head but they do nothing to block out the silence and its accusations against him.

Dr Tri'youl's already been in with her self-congratulations and glowing enthusiasm over what appears to be her best effort to give Leonard back his livelihood. It's a trait he can't stand in colleagues and abhors even more being on the opposite side of the situation. It's a feather in her cap but it's his life and he has to live with the success and short comings everyday while she moves on to something new. Everyone seems to want to bet on a miracle, that Leonard will grab onto the slim odds of getting through this one hundred percent with a little time and therapy, yet Leonard's always considered himself a pragmatist.

Twenty percent. He has a twenty percent chance of being a surgeon again. It falls well within Starfleet's parameters for his continued service in the fleet and onboard the Enterprise but not in the same capacity as he signed on for. He can still practice medicine, diagnose patients, prescribe drugs and courses of treatment. He's still able to run his department and impart all his wisdom to those that serve beneath him, just not the part he loves. What happens when Jim does something monumentally stupid and only Leonard can save him, but he has to hand it off to someone else that doesn't have the talent Leonard once did, because he doesn't have the dexterity to see the situation through? Having to leave the fate of his patients, his _friends,_ in someone else's hands? It'll kill him.

"You seem better today," offers Jim, entering Leonard's room on the heels of dawn with an armful of PADDs and a precariously balanced bag of takeout. Leonard doesn't answer as Jim assumes the position, spreading his stuff out on the table. Jim grimaces at the mush on Leonard's breakfast tray, poking at it with the fork. "You gonna eat that?"

Jim doesn't wait for a response, removing the tray and depositing it on a side table. He'd like to meet the person that decided unflavored mushy oatmeal was good for recovering patients and argue that anyone unfortunate enough to be in sickbay for breakfast has already suffered enough. He rummages around in the bag he replaced the tray with, pulling out a box of Edosian sweet cakes with Kzinti jam from a bakery he sniffed out shortly after their return from the nebula. It isn't Mrs McCoy's baking that Leonard raves and compares all other baked goods to, but it's the closest Jim could find on a space station. In comparison to medical sanctioned food, it'll be orgasmic and definitely capable of raising Leonard's spirits. And Jim could use a little comfort food himself, not to mention a couple cups of coffee.

Leonard looks like he could use a hypospray of caffeine himself, despite having more color than yesterday, and judging by the critical stare he's giving Jim as he watches every move the captain makes with hawk like intensity, Leonard is far more with it, than the incoherent babbling he was spewing at Jim upon first becoming semi conscious after surgery.

"You know there's a reason medbay serves up bland breakfasts," huff Leonard, as Jim offers him a jam smothered muffin. He doesn't mean to foam at the mouth, especially with the people trying to help but it's just how it comes out. He's got a bone to pick with the universe and currently he's laid up and trapped like a caged animal. It's one of the wedges that came between him and Jocelyn; he'd lash out at what she thought was well meaning help when all he wanted was to be left alone to deal with his demons. It just soured her attempts into harsh criticism and the vicious cycle of her under cutting him and him snapping at her went round and round until it imploded in an affair and a messy divorce with enough blame to throw around to cover the whole state of Georgia.

Jim just shrugs and proceeds to stuff the muffin in his mouth before reclaiming 'his' chair. Leonard's acting like a lion with a thorn in his paw and Jim has every intention of waiting him out until the anger dissipates and he can be the mouse that pulls said thorn out. It's his penance for all the times he slinked out of sickbay, against McCoy's explicit wishes, to engage in some death defying stunt. It's much more fun being on the other side than being the worrier and punching bag.

For the first time in years an awkward silence falls between them that Jim doesn't know how to fill. He's talked with Leonard's surgeon and then promptly sought out M'Benga to get confirmation on the information and have someone translate it into a form of English Jim can understand. Someone really needs to program medical speak into standard for the universal translator.

Everyone is really optimistic, yet Jim can see the shadow of doubt lingering in their eyes and carefree smiles. No one can bring themselves to say this might be the obstacle the talented crew of the Enterprise can't beat. He also knows Leonard and just what's on the line for him and anything less than one hundred percent is going to kill the southern doctor. _This_ , is something that should have Leonard frothing at the mouth with complaint and criticism or at least condemnation and all Jim's getting is silence- stone cold, unfeeling silence.

Jim's realized he's the chattier one between the two of them; the off set to McCoy's slight favoring of his introvert tendencies. McCoy is certainly anything but taciturn when he has something or someone to complain about. In fact if Leonard wasn't having a melt down on the shuttle in Riverside on the way to the academy, Jim probably wouldn't have given the doctor a second thought. While they fell into an easy friendship, Leonard didn't open up to Jim on personal matters until their second year, despite knowing some of Jim's more sordid details early on. So it makes Leonard's silence now, when he has everything to complain about, all the more unnerving.

"I talked to ..." starts Jim, daring to break the ice.

"Nope!" snaps Leonard, sharp and final with no room for argument.

It stuns Jim for a second. "You don't know what I was going to say," he counters.

"We're not talking about this," Leonard insists. He can't stomach any more platitudes.

"This?" asks Kirk. He damn well knows what _this_ is, but playing stupid might be the subterfuge he needs to get the doctor to open up.

Leonard rolls his eyes. "Stupid ain't a good look on ya kid. And batting those blue eyes ain't gonna make me fall in bed with ya, so I guess you're out of tricks." Low blows are quickly becomes his specialty. It doesn't feel good to carve out a pound of flesh from Jim's hide but Leonard consoles himself with the idea that hurting the kid now will spare him the pain later when Jim finally realizes he's going to have to leave Leonard behind. He needs to be cruel to be kind, the fact that it rolls off his tongue without thought or effort, just makes it easier.

"Bones," sighs Jim, rubbing his temple in preparation of the emerging headache. "I don't want to fight," he says glumly and perhaps a little broken, "I'm too tired to fight." The candle has been burning at both ends since he learned McCoy was missing. If that wasn't enough to weigh him down, he has to deal with the fallout of the other universe, oversee the rebuild of the Enterprise and most important look after his friend. With all these balls in the air, it's just a matter of time before he drops one.

"Then don't." Leonard doesn't feel much like fighting for himself, let alone watching Jim fight an unwinnable battle on his behalf. It would take a miracle for everything to turn out as it was before and Leonard's used up more miracles than anyone one else. It's too much and too unfair to expect another one now.

Jim hangs his head. He's trying to come up with plan B, C, D, hell E through Z if he has to, and nothing is simple. He'll search the galaxy to find something to make Leonard whole; he just needs Leonard to come with him.

Leonard fakes sleep, a habit he's gotten into when he can't stomach company and (mostly Jim) they won't leave. Jim just does his best to be quiet and facilitate the lie instead of calling Leonard on it. He uses this time to catch up on all the work he's ignoring and his duties he's been deferring to other crewmen. Before they leave and resume their mission, he'll make sure the crew gets the greatest shore leave possible; they deserve it.

* * *

Relief and disappoint washes over Leonard when he wakes to find Jim still sitting beside him. Every time he wakes up, he holds his breath as he tires and figure out if it was a dream and he's still there, because no rescue transported into hell to retrieve him or he made it out of there. And if that wasn't bad enough, he needs a moment to figure out if he's trapped in a nightmare or actually in the real world. Seeing Jim there is a comfort, a reminder that perhaps the Vulcan doesn't own his soul. It quickly turns sour, because Jim is also a reminder that it did happen and what he's lost. It also signifies he hasn't been able to shake his barnacle loose. Jim seems willing to take more of his crap than Jocelyn ever did.

Jim has a fine-tuned McCoy sense; he doesn't even have to look up to know the doctor is awake and/or irritated with him. "Starfleet needs your report about what happened over there," says Jim, tapping away at his PADD. "I've tried to stall them as long as possible but you know the brace gets impatient with things that are potential security problems."

Potential is an understatement. A doppelganger walked onto their station and kidnapped one of their officers. Like Nero, it wasn't something they saw coming, but they will be more prepared in the future. Everyone else has submitted their report in regards to their unauthorized rescue mission and Starfleet Command has been somewhat patiently waiting for the key piece of the puzzle that McCoy can offer. McCoy is going to live; there's no need to wait anymore.

Leonard counters, "What if I don't want to?" just to be contrary. He doesn't want to talk about it; the last thing he wants is to write a detailed report regarding his time in that hell. Worse, he can't help but feel there might be repercussions for his friends if he details what they were capable of in that other universe. Will the brace ever look at Kirk and Spock the same way once Leonard depicts them as savage monsters?

McCoy selfishly wants Starfleet to discharge him, that way he can blame them and not have to form the words himself. He just doesn't know if he can go back out in the black with the Enterprise crew anymore. He knows he can't stomach staying here and the thought of serving with another crew is lackluster. He's too broken to start over again. What does that leave him?

Jim looks critically at Leonard, trying to find any sign that his friend believes what he's saying. "It's your obligation as a Starfleet officer. I can compose it for you if you want to give me the details, assuming you think you might have difficulties..." He trails off, unsure how to finish his thought. Writing a coherent report? Putting it all together? He's not sure which part is giving Leonard difficulty.

"Maybe I don't want to be an officer anymore." The words hurt; perhaps they hurt Jim more to hear than for Leonard to say. This was his phoenix moment, rising from the ashes of a shattered life to find a new one within Starfleet, with a purpose and friends so close they're family and that pointed eared hobgoblin is going to make him throw it away.

Jim shakes his head. "You don't mean that." He has to believe M'Benga is right when he says this is just an affect of the trauma, that Leonard's melancholy will pass and his friend will emerge as he remembers him- a full time but well meaning curmudgeon. They just have to weather the storm until them. "A couple weeks of physical therapy, you'll be good to go and itching to check out what Scotty's putting together for you on our new ship."

"It won't be my sickbay," he grumbles. It won't feel like home, just another attempt to fit a square peg in a round hole and pretend it belongs there. A new ship doesn't need a ghost haunting it so soon after launch.

"Just file your report and we can sort out the details later." Panic is starting to take over. McCoy's had his back for so long, he doesn't know how to live without Leonard there. He owes his career to Leonard; the doctor being the foundation upon which he's been able to make all the crazy impetuous and reckless decisions that secured him a captaincy. He never could have saved the universe from Nero if McCoy hadn't risked his career to smuggle him onboard.

"You're not listening!"

"Bones, we have options, but the first step is your report and getting certified back to some kind of duty." They're on a timeline here and Jim can't afford to have Leonard fight him on this. He's running out of wiggle room to slow and stall the launch of his new ship. They're heading into uncharted territory with few breaks to gather provisions and people. Once they set out on their mission, if McCoy's not onboard, he won't get another chance. Leonard doesn't have to be one hundred percent when they leave, as long as a return to duty is in the foreseeable future.

"You're being selfish Jim," warns Leonard. He sees the look Jim gives him when he thinks Leonard's not looking, like he's looking at a broken bird that will never fly again. It's the same with Uhura who looks at him like he's glass and will shatter at using the wrong word, which is impressive because she knows so many. If any could navigate McCoy's pit falls it should be them so just how broken is he? Jim might think he wants Leonard with him, but Leonard knows the captain will come the regret that decision. Jim just doesn't know any better right now. He's too afraid of having someone close leave him, that he'll put them all in danger.

 _"_ _We're not done yet,"_ haunts Leonard. His nightmare won't let anyone get in the way of consuming him so it's better to push everyone he cares about a safe distance away. Leaving on a sparkly new ship sounds about right.

Jim feels that all too familiar urge to punch something coming over him. "Just write the report, Leonard," he huffs, throwing a PADD in McCoy's lap before gathering his belongings and storming out the door.

Leonard stares at the PADD for a moment, turning it over in his hand as the rage builds. No one's listening to him and subtle sure as hell isn't working. He's pissed, has been for a long time and now he might have found away to unleash it and solve all their problems.

A cautious man would hesitate, let time temper his thoughts and actions; a logical man would spare a moment to weigh the effects of his actions. McCoy is neither. He's always been emotionally driven and right now he's angry. There's a part of him that's sure he'll regret his choice in the coming years, maybe in the light of a new day, but he can't bring himself to see past his brightly burning anger. Screw it, he's nothing if not self-sabotaging anyways. Far too old to turn over a new leaf now, Leonard mounts the only rebellion he can muster with any sort of satisfaction.

The words flow like the punches he wishes he had the strength to throw back in that god awful universe. He writes until his hand feels like it's going to fall off with the intensity of pecking at the keyboard display. Just another demonstration of how unfit he still is to try and reclaim what used to be his life.

It's not a pretty report but it does say all it needs to. Leonard would never certify an officer fit for duty under these circumstances. He'll be tied up with a councillor for forever after this, never mind needing a physical medical certification. His formal request to not serve with Spock aside, there's no way Starfleet will keep him on a ship with a Vulcan that shares a face and name with the one that tortured him like that.

He uploads the report before he can think better of it and change his mind. It's after hours now but it will downloaded bright and early tomorrow morning by someone who can certify him unfit for service or at least unfit to serve aboard the Enterprise when she leaves soon. It's out of his and Jim's hands now. Check and mate, Jim.


End file.
